


Broken Crown

by milka121



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Body Dysphoria, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Forced Feminization, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Necrophilia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Break, Murder Mystery, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Thriller, mentions of transphobia, recovering from trauma, with a LOT of hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 75,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milka121/pseuds/milka121
Summary: One is an accident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. But four? Four is a challenge, and Lio Fotia never backs down from a challenge.There's a killer out in the streets of Promepolis targeting ex-Burnish and Lio decides to stop him, no matter the cost. Even if the cost is himself.
Relationships: Galo Thymos/Original Character(s), Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Original Character(s), Lio Fotia/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63
Collections: Promare Big Burn 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank-yous to Aura and Fey for beta-ing this monster, as well for [Jorniq](https://malgoem.tumblr.com/) for drawing art for it.

They get a call in the middle of the night. Galo is the one to wake up first; he shakes Lio awake, and Lio knows well enough that there is no time to waste on luxuries like coffee. They need every hand they can, especially now, in this fragile state of rebuilding the new world Promepolis needs to become.

So they get dressed in a hurry and leave. The fire they were called to is a house fire, and a big one at that. In the dense built-up area it poses a threat of quickly spreading, so their department all scramble to extinguish it before the worst happens.

The operation continues almost ‘till dawn, and somehow, though exhausted, Burning Rescue manages to contain the fire and keep the damage to a minimum.

There are no survivors. 

Galo spends some time looking at the smoldering building and Lio squeezes his hand, with no words of comfort that come to mind.

They don’t dwell on that night.

That is, until the corpse turns up.

* * *

“It’s peculiar,” the coroner says. Lio doesn’t quite dislike the man, but doesn’t quite look forward to meeting him either; it’s nothing personal, but Lio’s subconsciousness probably linked seeing the coroner with failing to save someone, and now he can’t help but flinch every time the man is near. Usually the man would only come to Ignis’s office to get some papers signed, but this time, he all but rushed to meet Ignis, ignoring everything else.

“What is?” Ignis asks, visibly not pleased that someone has barged into his office without even knocking, and when he was talking with someone, to boot. 

Lio stands up to leave the room. "I will come back later."

“The autopsy results came in,” the coroner says, pushing a folder into Ignis’s desk. “It seems like the victim was dead when the fire started.”

“Wait, ‘the victim’?” Ignis asks.

“We have suspected possible suicide, but-”

Lio closes the door behind him.

* * *

They fail to save another person from a fire and Lio starts to consider that it really might be some divine punishment. For something. He couldn’t really decide for what. Maybe saving the world used up all the luck that they had left, and now it’s time to pay their debt? 

_Well, that’s stupid_ , Lio thinks. He shakes his head and dunks his face into the faucet full of cold water; he has other things to worry about. Like Galo, who, as always, pretends to be okay when he really isn’t.

He exits the bathroom. Galo sits on the couch, eyes glued to a TV screen, and there is just a fragment of a second when he doesn’t realise that Lio is there before he shifts back into his usual, cheerful persona.

Lio isn’t fooled even for a second.

“Tired?” Galo asks, a big smile on his lips - but it doesn’t distract Lio from the dark circles under his eyes, from the strained way he holds himself up. 

Lio sighs and sits next to Galo. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

Galo shifts ever so slightly. “It’s alright, Lio. I’m alright.”

Lio wants to believe him, he really does. But he also knows first-hand how much kindness Galo really has, how much his heart aches even for the ones he doesn’t know. 

Especially for the ones he doesn’t know.

Lio shuffles closer and rests his head on Galo’s shoulder. Galo tenses ever so slightly, and Lio pulls back. Damn, he is bad at this. He should probably stop being so forward, but sometimes, this feeling of something he isn’t yet sure how to describe slips from under his fingers and explodes all over the place.

“Sorry,” Lio mumbles. “I just- You know you’re not alone, right? You have Aina and Remi and- and I’m here if you need me.” He can’t look Galo in the eye, somehow. Lio was able to stare down Kray and not waver, even when he thought it was all over, but Galo… Galo is full of surprises.

Galo’s hand ruffles Lio’s hair. “Aww.”

“I take it _back_ ,” Lio growls, slapping Galo’s palm away. 

But at least this time, the smile on Galo’s face looks genuine. 

Galo’s smiling face the reporters plaster all over the news can’t compare. He has always been liked, even before the world almost ended, but now, Galo became a kind of celebrity. Lio suspects that saving the world might have something to do with it.

But now, it’s just the two of them, and the world may go to hell.

And then, it collapses again.

“...body identified as an ex-Burnish, Lyria Adler, 25. She’s the second ex-Burnish to become a victim this week; Burning Rescue has declined to comment, but most sources are certain that the fire has been set by a third party, after Adler had already passed away -”

Lio turns the TV off. “Can’t they talk about _anything_ else?”

That weird expression returns to Galo’s face. “Well… There aren’t exactly any institutions to take care of this, right? I mean, there’s the Freeze Force, but they are fighters, not investigators-”

“And neither is the Burning Rescue,” Lio cuts him off. “You can’t take on everything by yourself.” He forces a smile. “You are a firefighter, remember? With a burning soul and all?”

Galo pouts. “It doesn’t sound as cool when you say it.”

Lio laughs and smiles and prays that it’ll be enough.

* * *

When the third ex-Burnish is found dead in a fire, Lio decides it’s time to act.

He doesn’t tell Galo. He couldn’t; if he did, Galo would be all over everything in seconds, worrying and pushing blindly forward, and Lio can’t afford to do something like this. He has been living in the shadows for so long, he knows how to move in them.

He calls Gueira and Meis instead. 

And they stand ready, as always, at a moment's notice. Old habits die hard, and old loyalties die even harder; they’d go to hell and back at his command, even when all that was bonding them to Lio was gone. 

Lio loves them for it.

“Boss.” Meis bows as Lio arrives on his bike. Gueira nods sharply, impatient as always. Not that Lio could blame them - he was damn impatient himself to get started with sorting this mess.

The system has failed them before. And as long as it continues to do so, they would take justice into their own hands.

The girl is not expecting them, but a flash of recognition glimmers in her eyes as she opens the door. 

“Is it alright for us to come in?” Lio asks, as softly as he can. “We would like to ask a few questions, if that’s okay.”

She looks like she’s in her twenties; one of the more delicate ones, Lio suspects. He doesn’t remember ever taking her on a raid. She looks just a bit too thin, as all of them do, but she doesn’t seem to be starving.

The girl shivers ever so slightly. “About...?”

“Yes.” Lio hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” She swallows visibly, but takes a step back and lets them in. 

The place is small and dirty. There is almost no furniture, sans a plastic garden chair and a table - for the rest, there are only cardboard boxes and a small futon in the corner. Not surprising, seeing as she has probably lost all of her possessions in the fire.

The girl nervously rummages in one of the boxes and pulls out a soda bottle. “I’m sorry, if you would rather drink anything else, I can-”

Lio doesn’t take the soda. “Thank you, but I’m sure you need this more.”

The girl fondles with the bottle. “You can, um, sit.” She gestures to the chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Hey, we’re used to sitting on the floor.” Gueira sends her a smile from across the room, and she reciprocates weakly. 

They sit on the floor, and the dirt sticking to Lio’s clothes reminds him of how it felt when they were still on the run. Maybe in a way, they still are.

Lio prepares himself and asks. “As I understand, Lyria was your…”

“She’s- She was my wife.” The girl’s eyes are plastered to the floor, her hands still playing with the bottle. “I- I didn’t… She just...” Her voice breaks, her eyes turn glassy, and her lips quiver. Lio has seen this before - grief was nothing unusual for them, not when every day they had to fight for the right to live - but it does nothing to stop the prickle of guilt from twisting his guts.

He takes a deep breath and reaches for the girl’s hand; she shivers at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry for your loss. But please, we need your help to understand what happened.” 

She squeezes his hand. “I- We argued that night.” She licks her lips. “I stormed off, and when I returned- the _fire-_ At first, I didn’t realize, but then, they told me that-”

“When did you leave?” Lio hates himself so much for pushing the girl. She should be allowed to grieve, to process it by herself, hell - she should be allowed to live with her wife in peace, not worrying about anything. But Lio needs to keep pushing, no matter what.

The girl winces. “I- I don’t know, I was gone for a few hours, I think? It was- I went out in the morning, and I thought, well, if I buy her that cake she likes so much, then maybe she will let me in, so I returned after dinner, but it still felt like too early, and I waited a bit more, and then-”

“It’s alright.” Meis and Gueira come closer, put their hands on her shoulders and back and she leans into them, desperate for touch, for warmth, because all of them are, because all of them lack the heat they had, and so it surprises no one that Burnish stay together even now, least of all Burnish themselves. And this one was ripped apart from her flame and her love, and Lio can’t bring himself to force anything more. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” the woman sobs into Lio’s arm. 

* * *

Leaving is hard, harder than Lio thought it will be. He assures the woman that if she ever needs anything, she can contact any of them, and they will do their best to help. She nods in response, but Lio can already feel that she will never ask for help, at least not for now. He makes a mental note to check on her later, and they leave.

Talking in Galo’s apartment is out of the question, so instead they simply sit in the closest park. They don’t need to worry about someone eavesdropping on them - Lio might be recognizable enough for some pesky reporters to snap a photo or two, but definitely not enough that they would record what he says. God knows that even when he tries to talk to them about ex-Burnish rights and the problems they face, they would never listen. 

They sit on a bench overlooking the park. Meis is the one to break the silence. 

“It checks out.”

“The time, you mean?” Lio asks. 

Meis nods. “That and the general account. She did have a bag of sweets with her when the fire was reported.”

“I remember.” Lio does all too well. He still can see the shivering woman trying to get up and run every so often, with Aina forcing her to sit with a shock blanket and wait for the authorities to tell her the worst. 

“It’s the third time,” Gueira says. “Third ex-Burnish.”

“The circumstances are similar.” Meis looks at Lio from the corner of his eye. “Boss…”

“The third one to have died before the fire was set,” Lio says. “Were you able to determine anything more?”

Guiera shrugs. “They are all too tight-lipped, but someone working at a morgue told me that all the bodies were weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Ugh.” Gueira winces. “He used some weird words… I think he meant that even if the fire was strong enough to make it hard to notice, there were some marks? Like, uh.” Gueira rubs his neck. “Like, of injuries from before the fire. And they were the cause of death, probably. Not the fire.”

Lio clicks his tongue. “So it can be true, then.”

“Boss…” Meis has a troubled expression on his face, like every time they had to do a particularly risky maneuver. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Meis was always the most careful one from them. Lio had good instincts and could improvise on the fly, but it was usually Meis who offered the most helpful suggestions to a tricky plan. Lio trusted Meis’s instincts; they had saved them more than once.

But he can’t just let it be, either. Not now. 

He looks Meis in the eye. “There is someone out there killing ex-Burnish and trying to hide that. We cannot ignore that.”

Meis withholds the stare - and then averts his eyes. “Yes, boss.”

Gueira shoots Meis a concerned look and suddenly Lio feels like shit. He shouldn’t be pulling those two into this, not when they finally have a chance to live like normal people. After they had saved the world, it was supposed to be the end, with all the hardships and bad things gone forever.

But it is never that easy, is it? 

And maybe, just maybe, a part of Lio’s mind whispers, maybe one of them will be the next, maybe he will be the one to look at Meis or Gueira’s charred face and yell that it’s not possible, not them, couldn’t be them.

He crushes that train of thought.

“We still know too little to reach any definitive conclusion, but please keep an eye out for anything unusual,” Lio says. “Three people dead is already too many.”

* * *

When Lio comes back home, Galo isn’t there.

_Not home_ , Lio reminds himself, _Galo’s apartment_. It was kind of surprising when Galo has asked Lio if he needed a place to stay, and it was even more surprising when Galo just accepted Lio crashing here. Meis and Gueira are free to come, too, but they never fully moved in here as Lio did, just popping in every few days to check on them.

It is a temporary arrangement, Lio knows, just until he will be able to move in after everything is wrapped up. The trial of Kray Foresight is still ongoing, unfortunately, and if Lio is going to testify, he needs a place where the jury can send him a summon to the court. It’s stupid and petty and Lio hates it, but he can’t change the law just yet, when he doesn’t have as much as a residency permit.

He will have to leave, sooner or later, and this time he can’t expect Meis and Gueira to follow him. _Or Galo._

Lio has never been alone as far as he can remember, and the feeling rising in the pit of his stomach… He doesn’t like it. But he will have to do it anyway.

He sighs, massages his temples and puts the pizza from the freezer into the oven. 

By the time the smell spreads through the whole flat Lio hears the clink of keys and the doors opening.

Galo all but runs into the kitchen, some plastic bags at his side. “Pizza?”

Lio comes to the conclusion that Galo must have some kind of sixth sense. A pizza-detector infused with his brain. Probably controlling the whole thing, too.

Lio nods. “Pizza.”

“Hell yeah.” Galo beams. He puts the bags on the kitchen counter and starts unpacking the contents - groceries, as far as Lio can see, and…

“What did you buy?”

“Oh, that?” Galo fishes out the package and opens it. “I just thought we could have some dessert. You know, since we’ve both working so hard.”

Lio stares at the cake. It looks absolutely awful; the icing is completely covered with a chaotic mix of every type of sprinkles known to mankind, chocolate and sugar absolutely oozes out of its every corner and even looking at it could probably cause diabetes.

Lio hasn’t seen such a magnificent cake in ages. 

“Should we cut it up?” Galo asks. Lio can’t decide whether he’s talking about the pizza, cake or both.

“Yeah,” Lio says. “Okay.”

He bends over to take the pizza out of the oven and prays that Galo didn’t see the tears prickling at his eyes. 

Galo never ate in silence, and this time is no different. Lio gives up on lecturing him. They have too much to talk about, and besides, Lio is hungry too.

“...and I need to sign _another_ confession. Why would they need so many signatures? Doesn’t it count that I already said so?”

Lio shrugs and swallows the bite of pizza in his mouth. “It’s about the law, probably. The law that, incidentally, it was Foresight who put in place.”

Galo stares with an open mouth, a patch of sauce on his cheek. “You think he thought about that?”

“We can’t be sure. But better to be safe than sorry.”

Galo takes another giant bite and either ignores or doesn’t notice the cheese hanging from his chin. “I guess? It’s still a pain, though.”

Lio huffs. “That I can agree with.”

Galo laughs and a half-eaten scrap falls out of his mouth. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Lio grunts. He grabs a handful of paper towels. “Would it kill you to not eat like an uncultured swine?”

Galo looks like he fully expects Lio to hit him with the towels. He licks his lips. “Uh. Sorry?”

“You’re _unbelievable_ ,” Lio sighs and attacks Galo’s face with just a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Galo pouts.

“Meanie,” Galo says. That earns him another jab at the corner of his mouth. 

The damn sauce is harder to get off that it seems, and Lio has to lean closer to see it clearly. He props his other hand at the back of the chair and-

And Galo is looking at him, his cheeks red from all the brushing Lio did; if he just angled his head a bit, leaned an inch more-

Lio jumps away. “Sorry.” If the burn he’s feeling is any indication, then he has to be at least as red as Galo is. He did it again, he stepped over the meticulously crafted boundaries they have both set, and now Galo is staring at him like a deer in headlights- 

Galo looks away and clears his throat. “N-no problem. Thanks.”

Lio takes his time throwing away the towels, waiting for his heart to calm down before he returns to the table. Galo devours another slice in the meantime. Not that much mess this time, though.

Good. Next time Galo makes a mess he will just throw a towel at his face. 

Lio reaches for the cake - and freezes.

_I didn’t even get to say goodbye._

What if they were wrong? What if it wasn’t someone targeting ex-Burnish, but just anyone? What if that really was just a coincidence, what if he fights with Galo and storms off and-

He shakes his head. _No. Not me. Not him_. 

Galo tilts his head. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Lio says. He forces himself to smile. “Want some cake?”

* * *

They don’t get a chance to sleep that night. 

Lio curses himself for offering his help to the Burning Rescue, but it’s an important one, and despite his body yelling at him to go back to sleep he makes himself wake up and sits at the back of Galo’s bike as they storm off.

It’s just another mission. Another call. 

Except it isn’t, because when Galo pulls out before the building on fire, Lio recognizes it. 

No. Not again. 

He runs; Galo screams something behind him, but Lio can’t stop. He told the woman it will be alright, that they will take care of her, no matter what, that they will be here for her if she needs it.

Lio rams into the door. It is unlocked, and the melting air attacks his face, the mixture of heat and smoke, and it doesn’t matter, maybe there’s still time. 

The flames eat at the walls, devour what little was there. The stench of gasoline attacks him, makes him choke and his eyes water. 

It doesn’t shield him from seeing the woman in the middle.

She’s on her back, stark naked, her flesh charred, and yet Lio can clearly see something sticking from the wound on her stomach-

No. Not stomach. It’s- it’s sticking from between her legs, someone has rammed the pipe into her until the flesh tore her apart from the inside, tendon by tendon, ripping her guts and skin, and eyes are _looking at him, her lips are moving, you promised, you promised-_

“Lio!” Someone grabs his arm. “Come on, you can’t stand here, you-”

Ash sizzles in his lungs, air simmers on his skin, tears rush down his cheeks. He tries to breathe through his nose and he smells burning flesh.

Lio feels bitterness rising in the back of his throat and the world collapses around him.

* * *

“You must eat something.”

Lio stares at the plate in front of him. Scrambled eggs and toast and yogurt - seems like Galo really put everything that was in their fridge. 

Lio feels like throwing up.

“Come on.” Galo scoops a spoonful of yogurt and extends it to Lio. “You need some energy for today.”

Lio can’t find it in himself to reply. His throat doesn’t work, sore from all the ash and blasting air he inhaled, and even when they had confirmed he had no injuries, everything that passes through his lips hurts and makes his stomach flip.

Galo’s hands are trembling, Lio notices. His smile is as bright as ever, but he can’t pretend forever, not in front of Lio.

Lio just shakes his head.

“Oh.” The corners of Galo’s mouth falls down for a second. “What about coffee? That alright?”

Lio doesn’t even get a chance to reply as Galo jumps out of his seat, all but running to the coffee machine. It turns on with a buzz and Lio doesn’t have the energy to pretend that he really just isn’t hungry, that he’s alright, Galo, really. 

Galo makes a cup for himself, too, and places it next to Lio’s. “Come on. At least coffee.” He nudges it against Lio’s hand. 

Lio slowly makes himself reach the mug. It doesn’t feel real, his hands are too stiff and mechanical, and he almost cannot perceive the warmth the cup radiates. Because what is it against the raging inferno? Against the flames that could devour humans and not leave even so much as ash?

“ _Come on_ ,” Galo says again, his voice pleading, desperate. 

So Lio makes an effort and with an unimaginable strength lifts the mug to his mouth.

The coffee floods him, milky and sweet, with just a hint of bitterness. It makes him want to puke again. But Galo’s looking at him, genuine concern replacing the fake smile, and Lio makes himself swallow gulp after gulp, until there’s nothing left.

The mug clinks against the table. 

Lio wipes his mouth and forces a smile. “You happy now?”

Galo’s eyes widen just a bit - and then there’s his normal, childish expression. “Yeah!” He picks up the spoon from before. “But you really should-”

“No.” Lio’s stomach flips as he looks at all the offerings in front of him. “I really don’t feel like it.” And after seeing Galo’s face drop again, adds, “Sorry.”

The coffee sloshes uncomfortably inside his stomach. 

“Did _you_ eat?” Lio asks, just to deflect the question.

Galo nods. “When you were… You know.”

In shock? Fainted? Lio can’t be sure, and he’s pretty confident that Galo doesn’t know either. Because there’s no way he could be okay after seeing _that_ , after promising himself he’ll keep Galo out of this, that he will stop it before it gets too late-

“I’m sorry,” Galo says. “If I hadn’t made you help us out with the fire, then it all wouldn’t have happened.”

“It was my decision to join. Drop it already.”

“But I pushed you, and now-”

“I told you to drop it!” Even he is surprised at how his voice raises all of a sudden; it rips out of his throat, hoarse and strained. 

Galo’s eyes widen and all at once Lio is hit with just how tired he looks.

Lio shouldn’t be pushing him. Galo needs to be at his best to stand against Kray and not waver in court, he needs to be where Lio cannot. There has to be enough pressure as it is - Galo’s whole world collapsed not that long ago, and now he is attacked relentlessly by those who shouldered the responsibility on him. Even the fact that Lio joined the Burning Rescue, albeit unofficially, and moved into Galo’s flat, are still the source of people following Galo around and pestering him at every opportunity.

It’s all Lio’s fault, one way or another, and he’s making it worse.

“Sorry,” Lio says. 

“No problem.” Galo collects himself quickly. He seems to be surprisingly good at that. “You are tired, and I get it. I really do.”

Lio knows he does - every death, every person he wasn’t able to save will be a shadow in the corner of Galo’s mind for a long time. Galo has always cared so much, even before they met, and it’s a wonder that he has not been broken by the reality already.

But then again, Galo has power to change reality, and Lio knows that first-hand. Would he even believe that it was all possible, living a life like this, in a centrum of Promepolis, in a regular apartment, not worrying about surviving the next day? Finally holding Kray accountable?

Lio feels a surge of emotion, a warm wave enveloping him like a heated blanket, making his face flush, but he forces it down, away. Now is not the time for this. 

Later. When everything is resolved. When he can finally face Galo and say that he did his part.

“Maybe we should go and try to sleep some more,” Galo says. 

Lio looks at the clock on the wall. It’s barely past 5 a.m. 

“Are you sure?” Lio gestures to the clock. “If we go to sleep now, you’re not going to be able to wake up on time to clock in at the station on time.”

Galo shrugs. “I can always call in sick.”

Lio raises his brows. “You really think Ignis would believe that?”

“Hey, I might have caught a cold, running around all night. And besides, it’s not healthy to pull an all-nighter.” 

Lio sighs. He is tired, more than he can admit - the coffee he has just drank does nothing to mask that. “Okay, then.” 

“Lio.” Galo stops him. “You can sleep in the bed if you want.”

Lio stares at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Galo nods. “You deserve it.”

“You’re going to stay on the couch, then?”

Galo looks at him as if he wanted to say something, but just shakes his head. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Lio repeats. “Alright.” And then, when he steps into Galo’s room, “Goodnight.”

“More like ‘good morning’,” Galo says, and Lio would smile if all his muscles weren’t hurting that much.

He doesn’t bother with changing his clothes - it’s too much of a hassle and he’s not sure his arms would be able to handle that much strain, either. So he dives under the messy covers as he is. Lio’s nose wrinkles as he feels the scent of sweat attack him. Ugh, he really should tell Galo to change them. 

But it still smells like Galo and Lio tries not to think about that as he drifts off to sleep.

He doesn’t wake up fifteen minutes later when Galo gets up and exits the flat.

* * *

He should have left a card or something, Galo decides, but it’s already too late. He can just tell him when he gets home. Though probably that won’t be a pleasant conversation.

“...and please, here.”

“Yessir.” Galo signs another of those papers that the lawyer - lawyer? Galo supposed that the woman was some kind of lawyer, but just as well she could be someone equally important with a different title. Anyway, he signs it.

“Thank you,” she says, batting her eyelashes. “A tiring process, isn’t it?”

“You know it,” Galo murmurs. Should he buy something on the way home? Probably. Lio seemed kind of weak to sweets, and if that was what Galo has to spend his money on to keep him in a good mood, so be it. Maybe some fast food, too. 

“It’s like the defendants don’t want to work with us at _all_ ,” the woman continues with an exasperated sigh. “Do they not want to bring the Governor to justice or something?”

“Mhm,” says Galo. Maybe he should try that new bakery. They seemed to have a nice selection of sweets, and it was run by an ex-Burnish to boot. Lio would probably know who exactly, if he asked. That would surely cheer him up.

“I was thinking, maybe we should meet for a strategy overview? Just to make sure we have your account right.” She leans in, close, and her hand brushes over Galo’s. “Mr. Thymos.”

Lio’s hands are smaller, Galo thinks. And more bony, with long fingers, hardened by years of harsh environment. They feel different against his skin, but not in an unpleasant way - they are strong and harsh, but Lio uses them carefully, as when he was cleaning Galo’s face after he had made a mess of himself, and he leaned in, too, much like the woman was now, and-

He jumps out of his chair. “Pizza!”

The woman blinks. “Pizza?”

“I should get pizza,” Galo says. “Can I ask the pizza man to leave it on my doorstep?”

“Uh,” says the woman.

“Probably,” Galo decides. “Anyway, thanks!”

He runs off to a place he can make a quick call and explains the situation to the owner of the pizzeria. He’s understanding, since Galo is a regular, and Galo appreciates that. Lio will like him, too, he’s sure. They can go there when they finally catch some breath. And when Galo will not have to sneak out of his own apartment to go try to help with Kray’s case. 

Well. Maybe Lio will let this go once he tries to leave and sees the pizza on the doorstep. Maybe.

Probably not, but it’s still worth trying, right?

Galo shakes his head and sighs. Ugh. He really should have stayed and slept it off on the couch, but he knows all too well that he should be here, doing important things. Even if that means Lio will get mad. 

“Agh,” he says. Some of the people rushing past give him a look. Galo smiles and nods at them, and they quickly go about their own ways. All but one.

“Galo?”

“Chief!” 

Ignis steps close, coffee mug in hand. “Working hard, I see.”

“Always.” Galo relaxes his shoulders. “Though it’s a pain.”

“I know, trust me.” Ignis wears his shades, as always, but Galo has long since learned how to read Ignis’s expressions without seeing his eyes. And Ignis looks as tired as is to be expected. He’s one of the few that were called to testify, and, like Galo, his presence seems to be required more often than not. 

But it is nice to see a familiar face every once in a while. “No time to rest, huh?”

“Definitely.” Ignis’s mouth quirks into a small smile. “Remi has taken time off. The rest are probably taking turns sleeping at the station, I suspect.”

“Sorry I’m not with them.”

Ignis waves his hand dismissively. “The trial takes the priority for now. And…” His voice wavers, as if he’s not sure if he should continue. But he only sighs and takes a sip from his mug. “I saw how Fotia was last night. I’d understand if you wanted to stay with him. I take it that he’s better?”

“He’s sleeping,” Galo says. He shifts his weight on his feet. He _really_ should have stayed home. 

Lio’s eyes as he looked at that woman. The way he shivered, how he looked so _cold_ even though everything was burning around him. That empty gaze, not seeing, not hearing, frozen, fixated on the way the body-

“That woman…” The words don’t want to get through his throat, but Galo forces them nonetheless. “It was.. not a normal death.”

Ignis nods. “Yes.”

“Yes? Just, yes?” Galo stares at him. That wasn’t a reaction he expected; Ignis must have seen the body, seen in which state the woman - the _corpse_ \- was. Ignis must have seen horrible things, being on the job for such a long time, but at least fire was not cruel, and this…

“It’s one of the murders,” Ignis says. “Just the most obvious one.”

“Most obvious?” Galo repeats. He understands, he _knows_ , but it doesn’t sink in, doesn’t feel real - can’t be real, it should be over, they have proven that Burnish and non-Burnish could live in peace, he and Lio, together. 

“That’s the fourth.” Ignis’s voice is far, almost non-existent, and yet it reverberates in Galo’s ears like he’s shouting. “As far as we can tell, anyway. They are only a few days apart, but there are similarities we can’t ignore.”

“But…” Galo can’t find the words. Nothing fits, nothing makes sense. “We should…”

Ignis sighs. “I got in contact with other Burning Rescues. No other district reported such… incidents. But they agreed to help us however they can.”

“Shouldn’t we-”

“Galo.” Ignis’s voice is strong, commanding, but has that soft edge as always when he spoke to his squad. “You can’t fight every battle there is.”

“But we should be, I don’t know, doing something!” Galo’s voice raises and Ignis winces. “Uh, sorry.”

“No, I get your point. It is frustrating, especially with such little support from the government.” 

Galo laughs, humorless. “Like, they have enough time to make us sign forms again and again and yet they can’t spare manpower to help us, right?”

Ignis doesn’t laugh. “It is rather concerning.”

“What, you think…”

“No. We shouldn’t throw around accusations. Especially not now.” He massages his temples. “But we better not say things like this out loud. There are still those not exactly satisfied with how things seem to be shaping up.”

Galo would love to be able to argue with that, to say that everyone worked hard, making the most out of what they have - but he has seen the expressions some send his way, felt the stares every time he and Lio go anywhere. The world has changed, there was no way back, but people always rather cling to what they know than jump blindly into the unknown. It will take time for everyone to trust ex-Burnish, but they will, eventually. They will. He has to repeat that until it becomes reality.

“Also, it reminds me,” Ignis continues, “I have something concerning you. Concerning Fotia.” Ignis takes out his phone and pulls something up. 

Galo looks at the screen. The footage’s quality is leaving much to be desired and it is shot from a weird angle, but it is easy to recognize the people in it. 

“It’s… Lio? And Meis and Gueira, I think, but why-”

“It’s a surveillance footage from a shop near where the last arson has taken place.” Ignis says. “Galo, did you know where Fotia was yesterday?”

Galo tilts his head. “He just told me he was with Meis and Gueira, but why would he…” 

“The last victim was different than all the others, as you probably noticed. The matter of death aside… She was the spouse of one of the other’s killed. And it seems Fotia has paid her a visit just hours before she was killed.”

“You _suspect_ him?!” Galo almost shouts, so loudly people once again turn to look at him with disapproval.

“God, no. I know as much as you do the dedication he harbours for his people. No, I just find it… concerning, that’s all.” Ignis takes a sip out of his mug. It must be cold by now, Galo thinks absentmindedly, with how slow he’s drinking it. “Just hours after his visit, the victim was murdered in the most brutal way yet, and there wasn’t even an attempt at hiding the body. Quite the contrary.” 

“That doesn’t have to mean anything,” Galo says. “The person doing this must be mad, right? No one normal would… Uh.”

Ignis nods. “You’re right. It doesn’t have to. But just in case it does… Just, keep an eye on Fotia, okay? He’s crucial to the trial, even not being called to testify himself. He was a symbol even before everything happened. He’s recognizable. Now more than ever.”

Galo knows all of this. He does. There’s a knot forming in the bottom of his stomach, tightening uncomfortably with each passing second; a part of him wants to bolt out of this place, go home, hear Lio’s lecture and make up over pizza. To ruffle Lio’s hair and get a shove in return and laugh at Lio’s embarrassed face. 

But he knows all too well that he can’t. So he just looks at Ingis’s face and says, “Sure.”

* * *

Lio doesn’t wake up when there are footsteps different from the ones he knows reverberating through the apartment. And he doesn’t wake up when something covers his mouth.

* * *

If it wasn’t one of their regulars, the chief would not agree to this. The man takes his job seriously to the fault - he lives and breathes pizza crust and probably would consider leaving a delivery on the doorstep to cool down a borderline sacrilege. 

The delivery man, however, has none of those reservations. They have taken weirder orders. And honestly, who cares as long as the client is paying. If they have money to back them up they can do anything they want with it, including ordering them to leave the pizza at the doorstep of an apartment. 

And besides, if the client was Galo Thymos himself, refusing to fulfill an order would probably cause a mior uproar in the pizza world. And possibly in the press, since they don’t seem to have anything better to do, the fuckers. The man could already see the thumbnails: _Is refusing to take an order from a Burnish sympathizer a punishable offense? More at 11._

But he isn’t paid to worry about bad rep, so he crawls on his bike and rides off to deliver the pizza. When he arrives and walks up the stairs, he all but throws the pizza on the doorstep and turns to leave. 

And then he smells smoke.

* * *

Lio has to check if his eyes are open. 

It’s dark around him, and cold - colder than it should, all things considered. The exposed patches of skin are bare and damp, and the air he sucks in prickles his lungs with how frigid it is. He shivers slightly. The oversized shirt and boxers he went to sleep in does not help him stay warm in the slightest. 

He tries to move from the uncomfortable position - when did he turn and _sit up_? - and discovers that he can’t. 

There’s rope biting into the skin of his arms and legs. And that’s what makes him realise.

_No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening, there’s no way-_

There’s absolutely no way. He would be dead by now if that was the case; all the victims were killed and then left in the fire in a short period of time, so Lio can’t be a victim. There has to be another reason, a bigger picture he can’t see just yet.

But he knows without a doubt that he has to _leave._

His breath hitches; he calls for flames on instinct and he is met with silence.

Of course. The Promare can’t help him now. He has to find another way, has to come up with something, anything, or he’ll be stuck here forever, at the mercy of the person that put him here.

Lio shakes his head. _Think._ He blinks once, twice, and it seems that finally his eyes get used to the darkness enough to survey the area.

_Think. Think_. _Find a way. Move._

There are no windows, obviously, and the chilling floor under his feet seems to be made out of concrete. There is a door opposite to him and in the corner there’s something that might be a boiler, but he can’t spot any furniture in the room sans the chair he’s bound to. 

Okay, so he can’t use that. 

He struggles against the bonds, but they are tight and his fingers can’t reach the knot. His legs seem to be bound to the front legs of the chair and he wiggles a bit more to confirm it. The rope bites into his calves a bit more, but he doesn’t feel anything on his thighs. 

Lio licks his lips. Now, the hands. Tense his muscles, a sharp tug - the rope is tied to the bars of the back, and he can feel it poking at his skin through the thin shirt. He squirms more and he has to bend his arms awkwardly, but he manages to move the knot up and down the bar.

A spark of an idea explodes in his mind. His fingers scramble about, feeling around the chair and as he suspects, he can reach the edge of the chair if he tugs enough. It’s hard wood, not plastic, and seems to be cut out roughly, without being smoothed out properly. Lio pulls harder, the rope tearing into his skin so hard it has to leave bruises, and Lio has to bite his lips to stop himself from groaning, but he lets it fall tighter and tighter, fighting for every inch-

And the rope reaches the sharp edge, finally, and even if Lio’s body is yelling at him to stop before he injures himself, he forces himself to press his hands into it and starts tugging the rope against it, sharp, quick moves, sparking another tinge of pain with every twitch of his muscles. 

It takes too long, he stops feeling his hands, and he still moves, even as the rope barely changes under his fingertips, unyielding and cruel, _please, please-_

He almost sobs when he feels the rope starting to give in. It’s still too tight, too thick for him to force it off, but he’s getting there, has to be getting there, his skin burns and his eyes water, and he tugs, again and again, his nails biting into his hand so hard he feels blood. It’s good, the blood’s good, it should make it easier, slicker, if only he was stronger, if only he could just burn it all off he wouldn’t be in this situation, so frustrated and confused and-

And his hands fall apart as the rope holding them together snaps. They pulse with a dull ache, the circulation finally coming back, but he couldn’t care less. He stretches his fingers and reaches for the knot on his calves. 

He can’t see the rope clearly and there’s no way he can maneuver himself so that he can use the sharp edge of the chair again. He grunts; his fingers are still stiff and hard to use, but he has to find a way to slip out, and he _will_ , he just needs-

A small sound. 

Lio freezes. Maybe he just imagined it, maybe it was just the pipes or-

Another. Another. Someone’s going down the stairs. Someone’s coming. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He’s nowhere near done with the bottom binding, but he can’t imagine that the person that tied him up in the first place would be happy if they saw how his hands are free. He can’t lose that advantage, not now, but the person’s coming down to him too fast, he won’t be able to break completely free in time.

Lio straightens his back and puts his hands behind himself. He can do it. He can. He has to.

He looks at the patch of light under the door and waits.

* * *

The punch almost makes Galo topple over. And yet, it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. 

He raises his eyes and sees Gueira being held back by Aina and Varys. Meis stands back, glaring, but does nothing to stop Gueira either. That’s fair, Galo supposes. He deserves that.

And yet, it still doesn’t hurt. 

“What the FUCK!” Gueira yells, struggling against their grip. “How can you take HIS side, for fuck’s sake, it’s-”

Oh. He’s crying. Gueira’s crying, gritting his teeth and yelling. He trashes around, his whole body shaking, and he’s sobbing, he must have been since he and Meis jumped off their bikes in front of Galo’s flat and saw with their own eyes the flames eating up at the building.

For a second they probably thought what Galo did - it might be any of the flats in the complex, it doesn’t have to be his, it doesn’t have to be Lio. But they knew, as Galo did, even before Varys has came back from the blaze and gave them that look full of remorse, as if he was the one who had failed.

Galo’s brain refuses to work. He’s too tired, it’s too much and too sudden, and he just wants to go home. 

Gueira yanks his arms away from Aina’s grip. He glares at Galo, but it doesn’t seem like he will try to hit him again. A pity, honestly. Maybe it would make Galo finally remember how to think.

Ignis comes up from their truck. “Galo.” He gives Galo’s arm a sharp squeeze. “Where was Fotia when you left?”

“The bed.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own; it’s too quiet, too devoid of emotions. It would be so much easier if he could yell and trash around and run into the building like Gueira tried before. 

But there’s something about seeing his home on fire, knowing that Lio is inside in the same way like that woman, cut open and left at the mercy of flames, and he can’t make his legs move. 

“Are you sure?” Ignis’s fingers dig into his shoulder.

Galo tries to force sounds out of his throat, but it refuses, closes down, clamps around his vocal cords. His neck strains as he makes the muscles move and nods.

There’s no smoke, not anymore, and yet it still hurts to breathe. 

Maybe it would be easier if his lungs just shut down. Maybe he should have stayed and laid next to Lio as the fire started. Maybe he should have let it lick on his skin, slowly, and then bite into it, char the flesh and devour it slowly, every second of agony shared between them. 

It would have been more fair that way. More fair than knowing that Lio-

“He wasn’t there.” 

Galo blinks. “What?”

“We can’t find the body.” Ignis’s words pierce his ears, and they don’t make any sense, even less than everything else that has happened. 

Gueira and Meis all but slam into Ignis. “What do you mean you can’t find the body?!”

“Boss isn’t there?!”

"We can't be sure yet, but-"

But they aren't listening anymore, not with even a glimpse of hope flooding their minds, relief washing over their tense bodies.

It doesn't matter, nothing does anymore. Galo spins around and almost smacks Gueira and Meis in their faces. "Where is he, then?"

The starkness in his voice surprises him.

"Galo." Ignis almost sounds sorry. And it's enough for Galo to figure it out.

His lungs doesn't want to work, but he makes them pump oxygen into his brain nonetheless. Focus. He needs to focus.

For Lio.

"If his body isn't there, then killing him couldn't be the point," he hears himself say. "The last one was too different. It's either someone else or the goal was not the same as the previous ones."

Her stomach open, Lio’s horrified eyes, fire all around them, like that time he cried and knew that it was all over, he had to run, he was the only one-

“Are you alright?” Ignis squeezes his arm reassuringly.

Galo smiles. “Yeah,” he says.

And then he throws up.

* * *

Lio sees the silhouette of the man. He’s lean and quite tall, as far as he can tell, but the light from behind makes it hard to see his face. 

He doesn’t turn on the lights.

“I thought I heard you shuffling around.” His voice is lower than Lio expected. He doesn’t recognize it, as far as he can tell. “I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake up. I might have overdone it.”

Lio clicks his tongue. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No.” The man’s footsteps echo off the walls of the basement as he gets closer. “It wasn’t the point. Not this time.”

_Okay. Okay. Act natural._ Maybe Lio will be able to at least get something out of him, anything. The villains have the tendency to monologue when prompted - gods know Kray did before. “So you are the one who’s been killing ex-Burnish?”

“Smart, aren’t you.” Lio can feel the smile in his voice as the man towers over him just a step away from Lio. Lio raises his head and stares at him, unwavering - he will be damned if he’ll be intimidated. He can’t. 

“You will pay for this,” Lio snarls. “They will find you, eventually, and then-”

“I know they will. Eventually.” He leans in even more and Lio strains his eyes to see the man’s features, anything that would help identify him, that would help Lio identify him after he’s free, but he can’t, even when he can feel the man’s breath on his face. 

Lio winces theatrically. “Ugh, you stink. Would it kill you to at least brush your teeth?”

A hand flies to his throat and Lio almost slaps it off before remembering he needs to keep his arms behind his back. “Yes, fight back.” A finger almost caresses his skin, and it burns everywhere it touches. “The last one was most disappointing. She almost wanted to die.” Suddenly fingernails dig into his skin, hard, and Lio has to bite his lips not to cry out. “She only started begging at the end.”

Lio spits on his face. “You’re sick, you know that?”

The shove comes out of nowhere and Lio yelps as the chair hits the floor. His head throbs and he’s sure there will be swelling later. He has a snarky comeback at the tip of his tongue when he realises.

The seconds dribble between his fingers like poison, the air thick and heavy in his lungs. And then, “Why are your hands not tied?”

Lio kicks as hard as he can and the rope holding his legs slides off. He rolls away when the man lunges at him and the fingers scratch his arm; he jumps to his feet and his muscles yell at him to stop and he wavers. But he has to run, he sees the exit, the light, there must be an exit on the top of those stairs, a window or a door or-

The man rams into him and Lio yells as he feels the weight crash on his legs. His knees bend under him and _no, no-_

“HELP!” The shout escapes out of his throat as he kicks and thrashes and scratches. He hits his knee into something and the man grunts, low, so Lio whacks the place again and again until the man’s grip on him lessens enough for Lio to make one desperate jolt and finally, finally break free. He feels the fingers reaching for him, but he can’t afford to think about it - he swallows the air and _runs_ , runs up the stairs, the light of the naked bulbs hitting his irises so hard it hurts, but he needs to move, jump up the stairs, reach the door at the top-

He yanks the handle as hard as he can, and despite Lio begging, it stays shut. _No, no-_

Lio slams his whole body against it. It can’t be locked, not now, not after he was able to go this far, _no, please._

“HELP!” he yells again, ignoring the burn in this body as his arm screams in protest as he bangs into the door. Someone has to hear, has to be there, someone _will_ come. “I’M HERE! THE BASEMENT! HELP!” 

He makes as much noise as he can, banging and scratching and yelling. He doesn’t notice he’s out of breath ‘till he feels a grip on his arm and tries to shove back, only to realise how weak his body has become. 

The man grunts and pulls again and Lio’s feet lose their balance and suddenly he’s flying down the stairs. 

He hits the ground with a dull _thud_ ; the air is shoved out of his lungs and he can’t breathe.

Lio barely registers being yanked up, white spots dancing before his eyes. 

“Seems like I underestimated you,” the man says. _Have to look at his face_ , Lio’s mind whispers, but he can’t focus enough to pinpoint anything other than the prickling inside his lungs. The words are hard to understand, but it’s doable, and he knows he _has_ to listen, even if he’s not sure why. “How brave of you to try to escape. And how stupid.”

Lio can’t remember how his legs are supposed to work, so he drags his feet on the concrete floor. The light changes around him - no, he isn’t supposed to be here, in this cold. 

He whines. 

There’s a shove and he’s falling again, hands fly forward, concrete harsh against the skin. It’s sharp and sudden and his breath hitches, white spots shuddering and disappearing. 

Lio rolls away - or at least tries to, being stopped immediately by hands bigger than his own. 

A finger digs into his wrist. “Put your hands together or I will have to break them.”

Lio bites his lips and the pain makes his mind finally clear up. He stares at the man, unmoving. 

He hates to admit it, but he can’t fight like this. There is no way out for now, and even though the man probably has a key on him, Lio is in no condition to force it away from him for long enough to run. And - fingers dig into him deeper, threatening, and Lio winces - he really won’t be able to do much if his hands are broken. 

So he reluctantly puts his wrists together and presents them to the man.

“Smart.” The grip lessens and Lio stretches his fingers. 

There’s a weird sound, and something touches Lio’s skin that almost makes him jerk away. But he doesn’t, and tries not to flinch as the tape is encircling his wrists. 

So the man has figured out that the rope was no good. Or maybe all he has on him right now is the tape - the only thing that matters is that it is even tighter than the rope was and it seems thicker, too. If the rope was hard to get off, what about this?

Lio has no time to think about it as the man lets his hands go and moves lower, onto Lio’s legs. Lio grits his teeth and pushes them together before he’s asked. And when the man leans in, Lio kicks as hard as he can.

There’s a pained groan and Lio smirks; he lands another kick with a dull sound before his thighs get pinned to the floor. 

“Cheeky.” The man sounds amused, and suddenly Lio can’t find it funny anymore. “But that attitude should be corrected, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lio jerks his hips one more time. It doesn’t help, unsurprisingly. “You seem to enjoy it a bit too much.”

“Still, it might pose a problem later.” Lio doesn’t like the way a hand suddenly presses on his naked calf, the touch almost nonexistent and too much at the same time. “I wonder.”

The grip tightens, discomfort turning into pain, and Lio tries to kick again, only to realise he still can’t move his legs.

His throat is hoarse and dry, and yet he can’t stop a whine from escaping as the man presses further and twists Lio’s calf up; it doesn’t hurt that much at first, not really. 

And then he feels his tendons snap. 

His body convulses, blood screams in his ears and everything but the feeling in his calf disappears; he tries to move away, jerk free from the ache, but his muscles move with him and for a second he’s sure that he’s being torn apart, skin breaking and _he’s going to die_ , here, right now, on the cold floor with a madman watching him cry out with a smile.

There’s a wet sound and a crunch and it burns, burns, burns.

“Oops.” An amused voice. “Didn’t expect it to do that.”

Lio can see the whiteness of the bone that broke the skin, can see the flesh twitch around the sharp edges. It shouldn’t be twisted like that. _Why_ is it twisted like that?

His mind wants him to yell, but the body only manages to force out a strangled, “W-why?”

“Why?” The man repeats absentmindedly, and Lio wants to throw up when he realises he’s looking at the wound, transfixed, almost in awe. Sick bastard. 

But the eyes snap back to Lio, and his tone changes. “Because you earned it, Lio Fotia. You really thought that fucking Thymos would suddenly make everyone forget who you really are? What you did?” His hand returns, caressing the edge of the torn skin, and Lio just barely suppresses the urge to jerk away. “Burnish are a mistake. All of you are lucky to be allowed to exist here, and yet you push, more and more. Someone has to put you back in your place.”

The finger sinks in and grates against the bone, the twitching tissue pulsing around it, and Lio’s muscles twitch, making everything _worse_ as they contract and pull at the inside of his skin.

“Someone has to,” the man says, his fingers caressing the raw, pulsing flesh.

Lio doesn’t scream as the man presses further, scratching at the delicate insides. He can’t give the man the satisfaction of pulling the sounds from him. 

He just grits his teeth, closes his eyes and hopes Galo would hurry the fuck up.


	2. Chapter 2

Galo insists he’s okay enough to do this, even though everyone, including himself, knows that’s probably not true. But he has to - it might be the only lead they have, and not finding anything… 

No, he can’t think like this. He needs to relax and think. Even though he feels like he might pass out at any second, either from refusing to eat or the sleepless night at the station.

The man sitting on a chair opposite him nervously plays with the pen he has swiped off Ignis’s desk, even though Meis and Gueira send him reassuring smiles and throw pointy glares in Galo’s direction. As if Galo were the bad one here.

Well. There’s not really a bad one. More like, the man could have seen the bad one, and if he did, Galo needs to know. And Meis and Gueira too. It would probably help if they didn’t try to silently kill him with their stares.

Galo clears his throat and the aftertaste of his vomit stings at his tongue, so he jumps out of his chair and bolts to the water dispenser. Everyone is still glaring, he can feel it as he pours the freezing water into a cup and downs it all in two quick gulps. It does absolutely nothing to make him feel better, but now at least he doesn’t taste what was once his breakfast.

He sits once more in a chair. The man almost jumps.

“You’re not suspecting me, right?!” His voice is high and tense, and the pen in his grip looks like it’s about to snap.

“Of course not!” Gueira replies before Galo has a chance to. “No Burnish would kill other Burnish in such a way. And, no offense, you don’t look like someone Boss would have trouble putting back in place.” He gives the man a small smile. That at least seems to make the man relax.

“Oh.” He licks his lips. “Alright.”

Nothing’s alright, but Galo is too tired to argue with that.

He feels weirdly out of place. Out of them all, Galo should probably be the one to have the best chance of making the guy talk. He doesn’t know him, not exactly - trying to stop Free Force from arresting him and later seeing him getting used in Kray’s experiments hardly counts as a good conversation starter - but it’s Meis and Gueira who act oddly protective. 

Well, that’s to be expected when he thinks about it. They aren’t exactly friendly, and until recently Galo was a part of the regime oppressing and using them.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t at least try. “We need to ask you a few things,” Galo says softly. “Anything can help.” 

He really means it. At this point they know exactly nothing. Honestly, Lio can be out there in one piece buying waffles for a very, very long time and ignoring all their calls and also not noticing that Galo’s flat burned to the ground. He can be.

But he probably isn’t. And Ignis has insisted that, until proven otherwise, it should be treated as a kidnapping, and not a murder. 

So Galo clings onto that as tightly as he can and forces a non-threatening smile. “Can you tell us what happened?”

The man shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He puts the pen down, but keeps his eyes fixated somewhere near Galo’s hands. 

“Nothing much, really,” he says. “I went to make a delivery and called Burning Rescue when I felt smoke.”

It can’t be that easy. There _has_ to be something there, something that will help. “Anything unusual other than that? Have you seen anyone? Saw something unusual?”

The man still doesn’t meet his eyes, and that’s probably why he doesn’t even attempt to pretend and shakes his head. “No. Sorry.”

“That can’t be right.” Galo doesn’t raise his voice, but the man shudders anyway, and Meis shoots him another glare. “Really, anything can be useful, please-”

“What do you _want_ him to say?! He hasn’t seen anything, so let him be!” Gueira puts his hand on the man’s shoulder and leans in, as if to redirect Galo’s attention to himself. As if Galo was hurting the man. As if Galo wasn’t trying to _help_.

“He _has to_ know something!” Galo stares Gueira down, but Gueira holds the stare with a scowl. “He was the last one to see Lio-”

“He hasn’t even seen him!”

“But _still_ -”

Gueira jumps to his feet, a snarl on his lips, hands tightening into fists, and Galo finally doesn’t try to not glower back. It doesn’t startle Gueira in the slightest, but Galo can see from the corner of his eyes how Meis tenses and leans forward just a bit, putting himself between Galo and the pizza man.

_Galo is not the bad one._

He rises so suddenly his chair is tipped back and falls to the floor with a thud. Blood sings in his ears and a low, animalistic growl rises in his throat as-

A high sound of a siren rips his mind away. _Dispatch request for Burning Rescue. Dispatch request for-_

The door of the office flings open and jumps off the wall with the impact. 

Ignis doesn’t need to say anything. Galo follows him anyway.

* * *

The gawking gap in his leg stops bleeding after some time. It doesn’t hurt that much when he isn’t moving - the itching of dried blood is being much more of a pain, but even trying to reach over there somehow pulls on the muscles in the way just short of agony, so Lio quickly gives up.

He’s back on the chair, this time his hands in front of him, but the bastard binded even his thighs with a tape hard enough for Lio to be forced to stay upright without any chance of slumping and giving his muscles some slack. No reaching back for the sharp edge, then. And his free calves do not exactly help, with him not being able to move a leg without wanting to chew it off. 

He tries to count the time, but quickly gives up. He attempts to sleep and stops after a few failed attempts - every time he closes his eyes his mind is ready to attack him with every creak of the floor overhead, every small sound he might have heard coming from the stairs. The adrenaline has worn off some time ago, and yet he still jumps at every small noise, real or imaginary.

Lio has no way of telling the time other than the fact that he’s thirsty and hungry, which doesn’t exactly help. His muscles are strained, his head hurts and he almost hopes the bastard would come back so he can shout at him and get some satisfaction.

The Foundation was almost kind in comparison. At least they had a reason to do what they did - a stupid-ass reason, sure, but at least it was one, and not this sensless cruelty for the entertainment of someone sick. Or maybe Kray counts? He was pretty vocal about not enjoying causing pain to Burnish, but somehow Lio finds that hard to believe. Not with how much he seemed to enjoy putting Lio in the engine and watching him squirm.

But at least their cruelty was impersonal and cold, while this… This is something else. 

Lio would prefer to be treated as a research object to this. Whatever this is. 

Maybe the bastard died and Lio will be left in the dark to rot. What he would die of first? Starvation? Dehydration? Boredom?

Or will Galo hurry the fuck up and get him out of here?

He groans, winces when his leg starts screaming at him, and resigns himself to waiting.

He doesn’t need to wait long. Almost as if he heard him, the man’s footsteps echo over Lio’s head. Then a rustle of keys, a door opening and closing - another rustle of keys - and then the slow pace down the stairs.

The door opens. “Lio Fotia.”

“Yeah, I know my name, thank you.” 

“Good to see you’re still in high spirits.” And this time, to Lio’s surprise, the lights inside the basement flicker on.

They’re blinding, even though the bulbs were dusty and darkened, after sitting in the dark for so long. He blinks, once, twice, until he can see the basement clearly for the first time. He wasn’t wrong before - there’s nothing of interest here, only the bare, dirty walls and the boiler humming in the corner. The man himself isn’t that impressive, either - a kind of face Lio would forget in a heartbeat, a face of a passerby he doesn’t recognize and can’t use in any way to get some leverage. No, those things Lio can bear.

The thing that makes his breath hitch is the metal rod the man has in his hand. 

_Her head, turned to him, eyes following every move, wide open in shock and pain, the stench of flesh, the spike tearing from inside her at a weird angle, her naked vulnerability torn apart at her most tender-_

The man notices his gaze and smiles. “Oh, don’t worry! That’d be a waste.” He slaps the metal rod into the palm of his hand with a smack.

Lio is not intimidated. Bigger men have tried. Even though those bigger men usually didn’t get so far as to break his leg and tie him to a chair.

“Then what’s the plan? Beating me up? Wow, you _really_ prove your superiority over Burnish with that one.” Lio rolls his eyes.

Another slap. “That could be fun,” the man says, “but that would be a waste of a nice idea.”

 _The metal peeking from her insides, from between her legs_ -

“No, there are other things we can do, Lio.” In the man’s mouth, his name sounds like an insult. 

He puts the rod propped on the wall and leaves, and for a second Lio hopes he just left. But, of course, the man returns, holding something vaguely drill-shaped that Lio doesn’t recognize. 

For some reason, it makes his stomach turn.

“Do you know what this is?” the man asks. Lio doesn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing a reply, but the man explains nonetheless. “It’s a heat gun.”

“Fascinating,” Lio deadpans. 

The man doesn’t flinch. “I know Burnish don’t have a fear of fire, as all normal life forms do,” he says. “But don’t worry. Fear is mostly a learned behaviour.”

He presses something and a small flame appears at the end of the gun. Lio tries to call to it by instinct, only to shut that train of thought down almost immediately, but the warm light still brings him comfort, brings back the memories of when the fire was him.

“I think we should start with this, shall we?” The flame dances as the man comes closer, and Lio cannot look away. It’s so alive, so warm and playful like a Burnish child's first spark he almost wants to smile, and-

Lio yells as it touches the skin on his thigh. It hits him, all at once, and he struggles against the bindings only to be blinded by his wound opening once again and his muscles twitch, trying to jump away from the pain, and _the fire is burning him_.

He knows, of course. Or rather, Lio is aware that the fire can harm him now, but still a part of his mind hopes, believes that it’s not true, that a fire would never act against him, not when they were one not so long ago.

It all shatters in a second, and Lio wails.

The man retreats, to Lio’s surprise. Lio is almost grateful until he sees the way the man’s eyes linger on the red mark quickly swelling on Lio’s thigh.

“Hmm.” A rising hum. The man leans in, close enough that Lio can feel the breath on his body, and puts his hand on Lio’s thigh, fingers just shy of pressing on the burned tissue. "So fire can indeed hurt you now."

Lio snarls and opens his mouth, a snarky remark at the ready, when the man tilts his head forward and presses his lips to the mark on Lio’s thigh.

It stings more than it hurts, but the feeling of the tongue prodding at him, forcing itself into the burned tissue makes Lio shiver. There’s a drag of teeth against it and Lio winces.

He feels the man’s lips curl into a smile against his skin. “So soft,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the wound, and there’s something in the tone that makes Lio’s mind jolt. Suddenly the oversized shirt and underwear on him seem way too revealing, a hand travels up his thigh and _no, no_ -

A return of the flame on his skin is almost a relief.

Almost.

“Let’s start heating up the metal as well, shall we?” The man’s eyes glimmer with excitement and Lio tries not to yell at the slow strokes of the man’s hand. “You wear the marks so well, Lio.”

For once, Lio is glad his thighs are tied so tightly together.

* * *

Even as they arrive at the scene, Galo hopes. 

His hope is crushed the moment Varys returns from inside a burning house and gives him a look that is hauntingly similar to the one he had given Galo when he walked from inside Galo’s apartment. 

Another body. Another murder. What does it mean for Lio? For him? _What does it_ -

“Hey.” Someone touches his arm. “You should sit down.”

The world swirls and turns and Galo _can’t breathe._ Nothing exists but the burning in his lungs and the white spots in his vision and the hand gripping his wrist. He lets himself be led somewhere and pushed to sit, and gulps down when a bottle touches his lips.

The cold water sliding down helps to clear the haze a bit. He inhales when he’s done, purely out of habit, but it, too, reminds his body of how his lungs should work.

He shivers, the cold evening air suddenly hitting him, and something soft falls on his body. A blanket.

“Thanks.” He forces his eyes to focus on the person in front of him. 

Meis shrugs. “You are obviously not in any condition to even be standing. Why are you even here?” 

Galo pulls the covers tighter over himself. “I could ask you the same.”

“Well, I’m not a dick despite what you may be thinking,” Meis says, but there’s not a real ill intent behind the words. Lio also likes to use that tone - sarcastic, but without poison dripping off of it, clever without really hurting anyone. 

“Can you stand up now?” Meis asks. 

Galo tries. His stomach jumps and he almost loses his balance, but Meis is here to catch him and throw his arm around himself. 

“Slowly, now.” Meis speaks slowly and clearly, with patience that Galo has never heard from him. He never really talked with him, had he? Mostly just nodded and laughed when Lio was talking with them. 

“Come on,” Meis says. Not softly, but close enough for Galo. 

He lets himself be put on a bike. “What about…”

“They can take care of this without you. Not that you would be any help in this state.”

Galo licks his lips as Meis kicks the ignition. “Where are we going?”

Meis turns his head just so slightly, his eyes regarding Galo for a second. “Home.”

“Home,” Galo repeats flatly. 

Home turns out to be a small, cramped flat Galo doesn’t recognize. Meis leads him to the door, then up the stairs, and fishes out his keys to open up a weak-looking lock on the door. 

Before Galo as much as takes a step inside, he is met with a hostile stare. 

“What is _he_ doing here?” Gueira spits out. 

Meis shoves him out the narrow corridor and gestures for Galo to come in. “Fuck off.”

“Bitch,” comes from another room. “Hurry the fuck up or I’m eating everything by myself.”

Meis throws his coat on the hanger, misses completely and then throws his boots on top of the mess. He doesn’t as much as look at Galo as he leaves after Gueira and yells something after him.

Galo debates whether he should clean up after Meis, but ultimately decides against it. He puts his own jacket on the hanger and shoes neatly put against the wall, the way Lio insisted all the time was the right one. It would be fun to see his reaction to the mess Meis just made. 

_It_ will _be_ , Galo corrects himself. He _will_ show this to Lio, and Lio will be revolted and lecture Meis and Gueira about the importance of a clean living environment, even though Lio himself was just short of an absolute disaster, and Galo will point that out and Lio will go completely berserk to yell and tell him to mind his own business.

He steps after Meis into what is probably a kitchen, if the mountains of kitchenware is any indication. It’s not dirty, just there, next to a jar full of pasta and small containers of spices, cramping up the already way too small space.

“...and I _told you_ that! If you listened, you would know.”

“Yeah, sure.” Gueira rolls his eyes as he stirs something in a pot. Meis shoves him lightly.

Gueira groans. “You’re lucky you’re holding tea or I _would_ kick you.”

“Sure you would.” Meis gestures for Galo to sit and puts a mug in front of him. 

“Drink,” he does not as much say as commands. Galo takes a sip.

It burns more than tea should and he almost spits it out. “What- What is it?”

Meis shrugs. “Tea.”

Galo stares, and Meis sighs, defeated. “With vodka.”

That explained the burning. “I don’t think alcohol-”

“Don’t waste our booze!” Gueira points at him with a spatula. “At least finish this one.”

Galo stares at the cup. Meis sighs, again. He reaches under the table and pulls out a half-full bottle. He opens it and gulps down, once, twice, then puts the significantly less full bottle in front of Galo with a dull sound. 

Meis doesn’t as much as wince as he stares at Galo. “See, you’re not the only one now. Now drink up.”

Galo takes another sip. It burns, still, but at least it isn’t as surprising as at first. And after another Galo realises just how cold he was, how pleasant the heat spreading through his body is in comparison.

Gueira all but slams three full plates on the table. Galo half-expects it to be either under- or overcooked, but what he sees is something that looks not only edible, but appetizing as well.

“Arroz con pollo,” Gueira explains. “Now eat before it gets cold.” 

Meis already digs in with a fervor Galo doesn’t expect from someone so deathly thin. Gueira watches him from the corner of his eye, something like a shade of a smile lingering on his lips, but it disappears before Galo is sure he doesn’t hallucinate this.

He takes a reluctant bite - it’s hot and aggressive, but with many undertones he can’t identify spreading on his tongue. The meat is tender in a way fast food never was, and for some reason, the thought makes his stomach turn.

Galo eats it up, with every bite more aware that he hasn’t eaten in - what, more than a day? Does coffee count as a meal? 

_No it doesn’t,_ he can almost hear. _Come on, you need to eat._ A sigh. _Okay, so pizza it is. But you take out the trash._

He finishes the dish before he can let his mind wander. He’s glad for Meis and Gueira eating with speed, too - they must have been as hungry as he was. Did they, too, spend a sleepless night trying to decide what to do? 

Galo takes another sip of his tea. “Listen, we need to-”

“No,” Gueira and Meis say at the same time, so sudden Galo almost topples over the mug.

“You are tired.” Meis glances at him as Gueira takes the dirty plates and places them in . “You’ve been running around for, what, twenty eight hours? You’re not going to be able to think clearly. And definitely not able to do anything.”

Galo licks his lips. “But-”

“We are all worried, okay?!” Gueira glares at him, daggers in his eyes. “We did everything we can for now. And in this state we are only a liability. Better to regroup and start tomorrow.”

“But,” Galo starts, and when he sees the way Gueira’s eyes light up finishes as quickly as he can, “why did you take me here? I mean, I don’t see-”

“You’re trying to help, that's reason enough.” Meis fishes out the bottle once again and after another sip passes it to Gueira. “Also you are stupid enough to not realise you have to sleep at some point. It’s our responsibility to take care of your stupid ass if the Boss is not around.”

“And booze is fucking awesome to shut up your brain.” Gueira takes a swing and wipes his lips. Then ignores Meis’s groan and puts the bottle on a shelf. “Sorry, baby, we need to be functioning tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” Meis says, but allows Gueira to leave a quick peck on his cheek. 

Galo doesn’t have the energy to ask, even though he probably should. But it’s not surprising, all things considered, seeing as those two are basically married anyway from what he heard from Lio.

It still gives him a tinge of pain when he looks at Meis’s lazy smile and knows Lio is out there, somewhere, alone and scared and left to his own devices. It doesn’t feel fair that they are here, safe and sound and Lio is-

“You’re overthinking,” Meis says sharply. “Go to sleep.”

Galo looks around. From the kitchen he can only see the hallway and closed doors that probably lead to a bedroom, but no signs of a guest room or at least some miscellaneous couch. “Where?”

Gueira shrugs. “Well, we have one bed, but if you don’t kick we’re going to be okay.”

“You mean, like, with you?” 

Meis rolls his eyes. “Or sleep on the floor, your call.”

Galo looks at their faces, trying to determine if they’re joking, but gives up quickly. Alcohol buzzes in his blood and his body remembers that sleep is one of its needs, and sleeping next to Lio’s friends is probably not the worst that can happen.

Galo finishes the tea and wobbles onto his legs. “Uh. Goodnight, then.”

“‘night.” 

“Don’t worry about pajamas, just sleep in underwear,” Meis calls after him as he walks past.

The bedroom is almost wholly occupied by a giant bed that some would call ‘double’ while others ‘just really fucking big.’ Galo places himself in the latter group as he kicks off his clothes and tucks into the covers and many blankets. It’s more of a nest than a proper bed, really, and nothing really matches, but for Galo it’s the most comfortable place he’s ever laid in.

Sleep comes suddenly, aggressively, like everything here. But before he loses himself completely, he hopes Lio will forgive him for this.

* * *

His consciousness comes back in waves. He’s warm and comfortable and there’s someone’s arm thrown over his waist under the blankets; the proximity is comforting, somehow, and Galo finds out he doesn’t want to move or wake up.

Then he remembers, and suddenly he doesn’t want to sleep anymore. 

He opens his eyes. The arm around him turns out to be Gueira’s. He seems to still be asleep, soft snoring escaping his mouth. His hair looks even more of a mess than usual, and Galo smirks at that.

Lio spends every morning battling with his hair, too.

Galo stretches and gets off the bed, his mind wailing at the sudden onslaught of cold air. He ignores it and goes into the kitchen. He can smell something that makes his mouth water - apparently yesterday’s dinner was not enough to satisfy his appetite.

“Morning,” Meis says, focused on the pan in front of him. Scrambled eggs, it seems. “Good to see you’re already up. Was about to go shake you awake.”

“Gueira is still sleeping, though.”

“Of course he is.” Meis slides the eggs off on a plate and then parts it into three before putting it on separate plates, where pieces of toast are already waiting. “Help me move this, will you.”

Galo looks at the distance between the table and the counter. 

Meis clicks his tongue. “To the bed.”

“We’re getting breakfast in bed?”

“It is beyond my comprehension how Lio can tolerate you being so slow,” Meis says, pushing the plates to Galo.

Galo grabs them and pouts. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Then I suppose you drink it more often, heavens know you need it,” Meis deadpans. “Here.”

There are three mugs of coffee, too. Meis grabs two. Galo has to balance three plates and a mug, but years of bringing the whole of Burning Rescue’s orders straight from the pizzeria has apparently fruited in a more or less understanding how to handle an ungodly amount of food without toppling over. How Meis knows it, however, remains a mystery. A mystery Galo has neither time nor desire to delve into as he walks back to the bedroom.

Meis puts two cups on the nightstand and leans in to brush Gueira’s hair out of his face. “Babe, wake up.” A disjointed grunt. “Food’s ready.”

Gueira’s eyes snap open. “Food?”

Galo pushes a plate in Gueira’s direction and Galo could swear he sees his eyes sparkle as he takes it.

“What are you standing for?” Meis says, his hands still not leaving Gueira’s hair even as he digs into the toast. “Come and sit.”

 _In a bed?_ Galo wants to ask, but it would probably be rude to, so he complies. He gives Meis another plate and receives a nod from him. 

They sip coffee in silence, and the food is better than Galo ever remembers a breakfast being. He just barely stops himself from licking the plate, but considering that he’s technically a guest, he probably shouldn’t do it.

That doesn’t stop Gueira, though. 

They eat in silence, sans the occasional sound of approval Gueira makes. The food disappears first and soon there’s a stack of three plates piling on the nightstand while they sip their coffees. 

Meis is the one to break the silence. “They found the body.”

And just like that, all the warmth leaves Galo’s body. The mug in his hands is too heavy, boiling against his skin as his fingers tighten around it. The food rises in his throat once again - but he can’t be weak, not now. They _have to_ do something, even if Galo’s whole body twists at the prospect of even talking about it, speculating about Lio. 

“How do you know that?”

Meis shrugs. “You are not the only one who talks to Ignis, you know.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s like before,” Meis continues. “Abused and killed, but the fire obstructed the marks too much to tell at first.”

“But…” Something doesn’t quite add up. “Why would they do that? I mean-”

Meis nods sharply. “That’s the fourth. Fifth, if we count the Boss.” He winces. “But it seems weird, yes. First two were obviously an attempt at marking the fact that they were murders - a rather heavy-handed one, but still. The third was… bolder.”

“Like he gained confidence when he got away with those previous two,” Gueira says.

“So why return to the same pattern as before?” Meis’s brows are furrowed as he looks at Galo. Not with animosity, but like he’s expecting Galo to say something.

Galo opens his mouth. “I…” He swallows hard, ignoring the bitterness rising in his throat, but the words escape him. What _is_ he supposed to say? “I don’t-”

“They are too different.” Meis looks at him, unwavering, but suddenly Galo realises that Meis’s eyes are glassy, not really seeing what he’s focusing on. “That can’t- but-”

“Babe, slow down.” Gueira pulls on Meis’s hair lightly. “You’re spacing out.”

Meis blinks, once, twice - and the gaze returns. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his face softening. He rubs his eyes and Galo almost smiles. Looks like he’s not the only one who this whole thing is getting to. 

“So what exactly are you saying?” Galo asks.

Meis takes a deep breath and collects himself. “Of course we can’t rule out the fact that something has changed that made the killer return to what was before,” he says. “But I think it would be more probable to assume that it might not be the same person.”

“You mean someone has done the first two and the last one?”

“Who has Lio, then?!” Galo blurts out. But Meis doesn't scold him for raising his voice.

“The one responsible for the third murder,” Meis says. "It was personal, a jab at us, at Lio specifically. A message, or a sign that they were going after Lio.”

Galo’s mouth is suddenly too dry. He asked, so he was supposed to be prepared for the answer - but even though, he hoped, pleaded that Lio is not in danger, somehow.

And it seems Lio is at the mercy of someone capable of stripping someone naked and twisting a rod through their insides in the slow, meticular way, giving the woman the slowest and most painful death they could.

He licks his lips. “So Lio was a target all along?”

“That’s my theory. Bear in mind that it’s based mostly on assumptions and circumstantial evidence, so we can’t be sure.” Meis turns the empty cup in his hands. 

“Why, though?” Gueira asks. “And why try to put it in between other ones?”

“I can think of two reasons off the top of my head. First, I believe Promepolis lacks a specified unified force for non-Burnish related issues, correct?”

Galo nods. “I don’t think there was any need to. Before, I mean - the Burnish were the pressing issue. People generally were able to work small details out amongst themselves, and I don’t think there was any case that needed intervention. Car crashes and stuff, sometimes, but never…” _Never murder_ , Galo wants to say, but suddenly it strucks him: how many went undetected under their radar? They were called a few times to a site of a suicide or an accidental death to help, but a murder was never an option. Maybe people of Promepolis were too preoccupied with an imminent threat of fire to start killing each other. Galo hopes it’s the case.

“And the Freeze Force is strictly militaristic,” Meis continues. “Ergo, you have no formal organs to investigate this type of crime. Your judicial system relies mostly on the evidence gathered by the involved themselves, the downside being that if there are no witnesses, as in this case, then there’s little of what we can do. That amount of killings is a blank - Burning Rescue has no experience dealing with a case like this, no resources to spare for each individual case, and focuses mostly on reaction rather than prevention. So it might be a move to take advantage of that. One murder would be easier to investigate.”

“So all those other people-” 

“Bullshit,” Gueira growls. “A cannon fodder? That’s what all those people were?”

“Not exactly,” Meis says, pushing his hand into Gueira’s, as if to calm him down. “There’s some genuine hate there. If not, I don’t think that woman would be treated the way she was. A quick death would suffice to continue the pattern. And yet.” 

Meis’s hands are trembling, Galo realises. His voice is calm and cold, calculating, but in between Gueira’s fingers, his body is shivering.

But Meis holds his head high and doesn’t let a shade of it show on his face. “Which brings me to the second possible motive. Galo, Boss did not get summoned to testify yet, correct?” 

And it suddenly makes sense. But it can’t, not in the way that it seems to be. “No,” he says, and he can’t tell whether his answering Meis’s question or convincing himself. “There’s no _way_. Kray is still under arrest, in prison, Biar too-”

“And the administration he put in place is still working as always.” Meis’s eyes harden. “This is a bet, mind you. But it’s not that far off to suggest that, maybe, there must be more hidden here than it seems.”

Galo can’t think. His thoughts scatter all over, one chasing the other, all in different directions, and there’s not a chance this could be happening, not when it was already all over, they had already won.

But the world doesn’t care about him.

Gueira snorts so suddenly it almost makes Galo jump. “Babe, have I ever told you that you are, in fact, so fucking smart?”

“All the time.” Meis squeezes Gueira’s hand and sends him a small smile. 

“What are we supposed to do now?”

“Well. I know only one person who might be granted the privilege of speaking with Foresight himself.” Meis looks Galo in the eye, unwavering. “If my hypothesis is correct, he might try to haggle.”

Galo shrugs. “It’s not like I can do much, though. All that work we did and it still-”

“That could be intentional, too,” Meis says. “Biding their time. And you think too little of yourself; even a slight change in your testimony could turn the tables.”

Gueira clicks his tongue. “So we’re supposed to just do what Foresight wants? That’s it?”

“That’s our best option for now.” Meis chews at his bottom lip. And for a second he looks lost, and Galo dares to hope some brilliant plan is going to escape out of his mouth at any second, one that would make them figure it all out without the need to walk straight to Kray.

But Meis only looks at Galo again. “Don’t do anything the Boss wouldn’t approve of, Galo.”

* * *

Lio thought the pain would lessen after some time. He is, once again, mistaken. It starts to swell instead.

He wonders how long it will be until the open wound on his leg starts to fester. The edges itch and burn, and the man has left the light on, so Lio can get a look at it if he grits his teeth and fights off the waves of agony, but what would the knowledge give him? It’s not like he can do anything about it anyway. 

And yes, it’s agony now. He feels it in every cell and tendon, not only because he’s been stuck in this pose for who knows how long, but now the burns on his thighs and calves are trying to fry his nerves with how much they yell at him with pain.

The worst are the ones at the soles of his feet. Probably because the bastard had heated up the metal to deliver the worst burns imaginable, making the metal rod burn red and pressing it to the delicate skin and letting it bite and burn through the skin and flesh. There’s no way Lio would be able to stand on them now; if there was a chance for him to escape, he has missed it entirely. If only he had tried harder, was just a bit smarter-

Lio almost laughs into the empty room. It’s not like it matters anymore, does it? Wondering about that now would not bring anything new to the table. And additionally, wondering takes away energy he doesn’t have.

It was easier to ignore earlier, when the shock of pain was still blinding his senses. Now Lio is painfully aware that the corner of his mouth is bleeding, his lips chapped and there’s no moisture left in him to as much as lick it better. His stomach is eating away at himself, his eyes are closing even though the pain still jolts him awake if he relaxes and lets his feet touch the floor, and he’s painfully aware that he needs to use the bathroom.

Well. It wouldn’t be surprising if the bastard wanted to see him piss himself, and maybe it would even be beneficial to Lio - he can’t imagine the man licking his legs after that - but he still has enough dignity left to not give the man the satisfaction. 

And yet, he knows well enough that it’s probably just a matter of time. And, Lio notices, there is definitely _too much_ time. His mind has already given up at trying to grasp the flow of hours, but even he knows that there had to be at least a few hours between each visit of the man. Maybe more. It really does feel like days. 

Which begs the question: why wasn’t he rescued yet? Why hasn’t anyone come? Why didn’t _Galo_ come?

 _Maybe they think I’m dead_ , his mind whispers. _Maybe they aren’t looking._

 _Or maybe,_ Lio thinks back, _you should shut the fuck up_.

His mind does indeed shut up, if only because Lio forgets his feet can’t touch the floor and hisses as the pain ruptures through him. 

And as if that wasn't enough of a punishment from the universe, Lio hears the crack of the basement stairs. 

The door open. “Lio.”

Lio would spit at him if there was any moisture left in his mouth. Instead, he settles for a sneer and doesn’t respond as the man moves closer.

There’s nothing in his hands this time. Does he like using that metal rod that much? It lays there, next to the boiler, and Lio tries not to think about the scraps of charred flesh on it, about the all too familiar smell that makes him think of fire and dead eyes _,_ but maybe he’s in for another round.

But the man doesn’t make a step towards it. He walks to Lio, behind him, and Lio strains his neck to keep him in his sight, but it’s near impossible. There are hands on his back and Lio does his best not to shudder, and-

And suddenly his hands jump apart, his wrists free. His arms protest at the sudden move, but Lio can’t care less. Why in the fuck- No. He can’t question it; he needs to act.

And yet his arms refuse to move, muscles too stiff and stubborn, and he can barely command his fingers to tighten when the man moves into the front. His hands on Lio’s thighs brush against the burns, definitely on purpose, but Lio just grits his teeth and waits as the man cuts the tape open with his scissors. 

“You seem to scar well,” the man says. “But we can’t have you die too soon, can we?”

He grabs at Lio’s arm and yanks him up; Lio tries to stand, but the soles of his feet _burn_ , and his knees bend under him.

The man grabs him, and Lio hates himself for clinging onto him, but it’s better than falling onto the floor. It still doesn’t make the arm sneaking around his waist feel better.

“Too roughened up, huh?” Fingers stroke down his back, just above the line of his boxers, and Lio wants nothing more than to bite his nose off. “I will help you.”

A hand tightens around his back and Lio yelps as he is lifted and hoisted over the man’s shoulder. His body screams at him in pain as his burns on his legs are pressed to the man and Lio can’t even pretend he isn’t being felt up because there’s a hand on his ass and _he can’t do anything_ , not when he can’t even raise his arms. 

“There we go,” the man says, almost softly, and he has the _guts_ to squeeze. 

Lio has never wanted to kill someone with his bare hands so badly, to see him struggle and beg and fucking _die_ , in as much agony as he can give him. His hate for Kray was overwhelming and absolute, yes, but it wasn’t strictly personal, more about what he was doing and representing rather than who he was himself. But this bastard deserves to die simply because he has the audacity to exist.

The man walks through the door, just barely bending so Lio does not hit his head on the frame, and starts walking up the stairs. He reaches into his pockets and takes out the keys. 

He puts them in the keyhole and it _clicks open_. And there’s light there, in the room, not an artificial one from flickering bulbs, but a real one, warm and soft, and Lio almost sobs as he sees a window. It’s stained and matted, but it still makes Lio’s heart throb and his mind soar.

He has an exit. A way out. If only he can find a way to move-

The man turns and the window disappears from Lio’s line of sight. Another click, and Lio is dropped unceremoniously onto the concrete floor.

He has enough time to grunt through gritted teeth before the door closes behind him and he hears the sound of a key turning, and then footsteps. 

Lio blinks, slowly. Great. He’s locked in a… Oh. 

It’s a bathroom, small and dirty, but a bathroom nonetheless, with a sink and a toilet and no windows. The bulb on a cable hanging from the ceiling gives out enough light to just barely see the room.

And yet, Lio can’t just accept it. There has to be some ulterior motive here, a trap or… There’s just no way the person that took such great joy in burning his body would just do something for him out of pure altruism. 

But he doesn’t hear him come back, doesn’t hear any creepy remarks. He forces himself to sit upright, as much as his body allows him, and tugs at the door, but they won’t budge, unsurprisingly. His bladder yells at him and his legs rub against each other; he _needs_ the release, even if it’s a trap, and his reluctance crumbles.

Lio grits his teeth and drags himself on the dirty floor, arms pulling the full weight of his body, trying not to think about all the filth rubbing into his wounds. The harsh floor digs into his flesh, scrapes at the dried blood and burned tissue, and the toilet seat is _right there_ , no more than two meters away from the door, and yet it feels like an eternity before his finger reaches it. 

He puts his hands on the edge of the seat and tries to stand, only for them to _burn_ and collapse, too tense and exhausted.

He feels tears pricking in the corner of his eyes. It’s not fair! He can’t be so weak! He’s the leader of Mad Burnish, the one they always look up to, their protector; he can’t be reduced to _this_ , too weak to even sit on a fucking _toilet_.

Lio yells and punches the concrete floor, but even this is too feeble, not even strong enough for it to really hurt. He’s powerless; small, weak, useless without his fire. The great Lio Fotia, crawling in grime, about to piss himself. 

_No._

Lio blinks, tears falling down. _No_ , the voice in his mind says again. _Get up._

Lio doesn’t want to get up. He wants to lay on the cold floor in the bathroom alone and wait for everything to stop.

_Get up. Get up get up get up-_

“Fucking annoying,” Lio says. “Who do you think you are?”

Lio can almost see a smile in his mind. _Just an idiot._

He really must be going insane. But at least it makes him smile. 

Lio takes a deep breath, relaxes his shoulders, and tries again. His arms shake, muscles cry out, but they _hold_ , enough for him to put his sorry ass on the toilet. It shouldn’t feel as satisfying, but it does, and he almost yells again. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

It’s easier once he’s sitting. He relieves himself, and when he puts his boxers back on, he realises something.

He presses the button - and the toilet squeaks and flushes. Oh.

If there’s running water here, then he has to be at the territory of Promepolis. All independent city states have their own waterworks system in a limited area - most of the other terrain have no one living there, people long since moving into cities for protection from the flames. So either is Lio in another city, or he’s still in Promepolis. 

But where in Promepolis are there such big buildings? Lio calls back the image he just saw; big windows, concrete floors and walls, big, open space. A warehouse, perhaps? But an abandoned one, judging by the state of the bathroom and the open space. Warehouse… Where in Promepolis are warehouses? _Think. Think_. Were they ever called to a magazine fire? Had Galo ever talked about it? Had-

A click of a key turning and the doors opening tears into his thoughts. His time is up.

“All done?” says the man, a cheerfulness in his voice chilling Lio to the bone. But it would do him no good to show how his gut yells at him that something is wrong.

Lio clicks his tongue. “As much as I can be, given the circumstances.”

“Washed your hands?” The man scoots closer, and somehow, Lio feels even more exposed than usual. “It’s important to wash hands before a meal.”

 _A meal?_ That’s something new. If his behaviour wasn’t a red flag before, then now it definitely is. He’s being too nice - or rather, considerate. 

Lio’s whole body tenses as he is once again pulled up, but this time, the man only gives him enough leverage to not fall, doing nothing to help Lio move. 

“Come on.” The cheerfulness cuts into Lio’s brain. “You need to wash your hands, Lio.”

The sink is light years away. Lio forces his leg to move and groans as he is forced to put his weight on it. It hurts, spreads through his muscles like a disease, and he’s so tired from feeling it that he almost falls down again. But the man doesn’t let him, instead forcing him into this position of agony, concrete floor putting daggers into Lio’s feet.

“Lio.” Pain all over him, his skin sticking to the floor and ripping off, charred flesh and blackened tissue. “Open the tap, Lio.” 

And Lio does, even though it means he can’t escape the pain, even though he yells and groans as ice cold water attacks his hands.

“Good boy.” Suddenly, he is picked up and the pain in his feet lessens - not disappears, that would be too much of a mercy, but even that is a godsend, a blessing that makes Lio sob, dry tears shaking his whole body. The relief washing over him feels like a betrayal, and yet Lio holds on to it as the man walks out of the bathroom and down the stairs, into the painful, fake light and long shadows of the basement. 

He almost hopes that the man forgets to lock the door, just this once, but he doesn’t, and Lio watches the key turn in the lock. He isn’t even disappointed at that anymore.

It scares him a little, the realization how much he accepts that he can’t escape. That he can only wait for rescue. 

He tries to shake off the feeling as the man opens the door to the room. And immediately, Lio knows something’s wrong.

A warm gush of wet air hits him, trying to escape through the door, and the man closes them quickly. The steam hangs in the air, almost tangible, droplets already forming on Lio’s skin. The source of all of this stands proudly in the middle of the room: a big plastic bathtub, almost completely filled with hot water coming through a hose connected to the boiler on the wall. 

The man puts him on the floor, legs first and Lio doesn’t even pretend he can stand anymore. He falls to his knees and discovers that the floor starts heating up, too. Well, at least he has that to look up to.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” The man grabs something from a corner and flings it at Lio. Lio’s muscles tense on instinct and he manages to grab the thing mid-air. It turns out to be a water bottle, unopened from the looks of it, and it confuses Lio further. 

It isn’t kindness. It can’t be. But he’s too thirsty to question that, and if it’s unopened, he should be mostly safe. He opens it with his trembling hands and gulps down, once, twice, thrice, every bit of water a blessing for his dry throat and tired body.

He crumples the plastic bottle up when he’s done and throws it back to the man. It’s a weak throw, barely able to reach the man’s feet, but it still feels good.

“You should say thank you,” the man says. Lio glares at him in response and the man sighs theatrically. “And here I’m trying so hard to accomodate your needs. Even prepared a bath for you.” He walks closer and Lio hates the grin on his face, hates the way his eyes size him up. “Lio.” The man crouches in front of him. “We can’t let your wounds get infected. So let’s clean them up, shall we?” 

If anything, the false kindness is worse than cruelty, if only because Lio isn’t sure what to expect. The man must have decided that keeping Lio alive would be more beneficial to him than letting him die, and that’s… Lio doesn’t know how he feels about that.

But he can feel how the dried blood itches, how sweat makes his skin sticky and disgusting, the battered tissue all too tender with the filth all over him. He can refuse, of course, but the fact of the matter is that he needs to tend to those wounds, better sooner than later. And if he doesn’t agree chances are the man will either let him stay as he is, seeing as he is weirdly accommodating as for today, or force Lio into the bath. Either way, the outcome would be bad for Lio. So the only way to proceed is to agree and hope for the best.

He nods. 

“Good boy,” comes again, and Lio hates it more and more every time the man says it. “Now get up.”

He doesn’t offer any help, only looks at Lio with that damn smirk on his face, and Lio knows that it’s a challenge, one that he can’t win. Or worse - the man is checking if Lio wasn’t just acting vulnerable before and really can’t walk. As if the bone sticking out of his leg isn't proof enough.

Lio swallows his pride. “I can’t.”

“Hmm.” The man doesn’t move. “What are we going to do with you now?”

Lio shrugs. He’s not above crawling again, as humiliating as that would be. It’s better than letting his wounds rot. If the man wants to see him degraded, then Lio will take it with his head high.

And just as he readies himself for the worst, the world twists again. “Take your clothes off.”

Lio freezes.

“No.” It spills out his mouth before he can as much as consider the cards in his hand. 

A mistake. The man’s eyes glimmer with interest. “Oh? You’re going to take a bath in your clothes?” He strides over, long, slow steps, and Lio feels his body chill with every centimeter of the distance wrung away. 

The man towers over him with ease. “Either you do it or I can just cut them off. But then I can’t promise I won’t accidentally leave some marks.”

Lio wants to decline. Wants to look into the man’s eyes and snarl and spit on his face. Wants to scream and fight and prove that he’s not scared. But he hasn’t eaten in god knows how long and he would much rather do it on his own terms than be forced into a fight he knows he can’t win. No one can blame him for that. 

It still feels disgusting when the man watches him with a smirk as he twists his arms and grabs the material of his shirt, soaked with sweat and filth, and commands his muscles to pull. It’s rough against his skin, like sandpaper, and yet Lio would much rather have that feeling all over him than catch the man’s expression when the shirt hit the floor. 

“Underwear, too.” A softer tone, but so much more cruel. 

Lio allows himself one last moment of hesitation before he pushes his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers. He doesn’t shiver, even if he would love to - it’s much more important to slide them off without hooking them on the peeking bone and straining his sore muscles or rubbing the burned flesh. He focuses on that, and it helps him not to think about the way the man licks his lips.

It hurts, but it’s nothing new. The pain is familiar, coursing through his body since the first time he has opened his eyes and found himself here. But humiliation isn’t.

Lio folds one of his legs to cover himself just a little and tries not to shiver under the man’s gaze. He can’t show how much he hates it. Can’t let him know.

It’s all for nothing. “Don’t play shy, now.” A mocking tone laced with something Lio doesn’t want to think about. “Spread your legs.”

There’s no way Lio can feel his breath on his skin, but he can swear he does, and it makes his skin crawl as his thighs fall open. The man kneels down, way too close, staring at Lio without an ounce of shame.

“Half expected you to have a cunt,” the man says. 

“Sorry I do not live up to your perverted expectations.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not disappointed, merely surprised.” And there are hands on him, suddenly, thumbs pressing on his thighs, forcing them further apart even as Lio’s muscles scream. “Such a whore is only fit to be always wet and ready for the taking.”

No. No, no, no-

The grip tightens and Lio winces. “Still, I am below fucking such an unclean whore. We need to get you all dolled up, don’t we?”

Okay. Okay. So that’s what he wants. Lio assesses his options. He needs to clean his wounds, despite everything - he can’t die here, not like this, not just because of an infection. So, he needs to get in the bath and clean himself. But he still can avoid - _that_. He just needs to keep talking. Play his cards right. Yeah. 

“Get up.” The grip moves to his arms and he’s tugged up, again sending a wave of pain through his body. Lio doesn’t want to clutch onto the man, not when he’s naked and-

No. He can’t think about it. He won’t. And he doesn’t, even as he’s all but dragged to the middle of the room with the tub, and when the man presses his body into him and Lio feels something poking him. 

“Get in, Lio.”

The water is steaming heavily; it must be warm, comforting. But most of all, it’s a place where the hands won’t press into his hips that way, with every second of that disgusting feeling on his back threatening to-

Lio looks into the water, takes a deep breath and steps in.


	3. Chapter 3

Galo tugs at the collar of his shirt. It feels too tight, too formal, but he knows he needs to make the best impression he can. He has to. 

He smiles at the guard as he passes him, and the guard ignores him, thankfully. Or not. Galo has suspected that _someone_ would stop him, seeing as he just walked into the most heavy-surveillanced prison in Promepolis, but he went through the entrance gate, then inside, and no one as much as looked his way. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like such a good idea anymore.

Someone finally notices him when he reaches another gate, less threatening-looking, but probably much harder to force their way through if the row of cameras and locks is any indication.

“Ekhem.” The person that approaches him is so stern and sharply dressed that Galo is immediately reminded of Biar, even if the woman in front of him looks nothing like her: short and plump with big glasses and light hair. 

The expression is almost spot-on, though. Neutral with just the smallest suggestion of displeasure, not demanding to hurry, but off-handedly mentioning that she is a very busy woman and has an appointment in a short while.

Galo decides to act as though he would with Biar. He smiles. She doesn’t reciprocate, but that’s to be expected. “Hello. I was hoping, uh, I mean, I’m here to see Kray.”

She doesn’t bat an eye. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Do I have to make an appointment to see someone in jail?”

“It’s not _jail_. It's an arrest.” She glares at him in the most neutrally displeased way possible. “And I take it that you, in fact, do not have an appointment.”

“Uh. No?” Galo keeps smiling so much his muscles start to hurt. 

“Then how did you even get in?”

“I, uh… walked?” Galo says cheerfully. The woman’s eyelid twitches. 

“I swear, I’m running this place on my own.” She shakes her head and massages her temples. Galo isn’t sure if it’s a cue for him to stop smiling or to continue. Either option doesn’t feel exactly right. Well, at least if he’s smiling she probably won’t call security on him. Probably.

“Mr. Thymos, I suppose you are here to meet Mr. Foresight, correct?” The woman corrects the glasses on her nose and goes back to her almost-Biar demeanor. Galo nods. “In that case, I need you to state your reason for such a visit. Mr. Foresight is, as you probably know first-hand, a person of great interest to many.” 

The way she words it makes Galo’s stomach not as much jump as twitch with the feeling of… not-rightness. Is she on his side, or Kray’s? He can’t tell from just that statement alone. She might be working for Kray, with him, which would mean Kray _knows_ Galo’s coming, and that would mean that Kray really is responsible for what happened to Lio and most likely knows where he is.

Or she might just be an overseer with a really, really bad team. Galo knows how poorly designed public prisons are - during his training there was a brief time he can almost remember when he had lectures about the rights of citizens and crimes and non-Burnish prisons which were actually still for Burnish. It was complicated. He passed most of his exams because a very nice lady let him cheat off her. 

And, of course, now the knowledge would probably be useful. “Uh,” he says, trying to come up with a very legal reason as to why he was here. “I… Just wanted to see him, honestly.”

The woman raises her brow. A bad sign. Uh-oh. 

“I- You know, he was my mentor for so long… I never thought he would be like this. I mean, he basically raised me, and then to discover something so-” He’s babbling, he knows that, but he can’t stop now even if he wanted to; the words pour out of him in incoherent waves of bullshit. “He was my hero, still kind of is, and I need some answers. I need to talk to him. Please. Just let me talk to Kray.”

The woman still has the same look on her face. Galo is about to start apologizing and leave before he dies from her gaze when she sniffs and grabs at a tissue from her jackets' pocket. 

“Mr. Thymos…” She dabs at her eyes aggressively, big glasses going askew. “I think if anyone in this city has a reason to meet Mr. Foresight, it’s you. We all felt betrayed, discovering that _disgusting_ ploy; honestly, I personally think that if the Governor wasn’t detained here people would find a way to execute justice on their own.”

“Uh,” says Galo, watching as the woman all but sobs into the handkerchief. It’s a nice handkerchief, he notices. Looks expensive. And definitely not like something anyone would use to sob and blow their nose in as the woman seems to be doing. 

_She’s bluffing_ , Galo’s mind whispers. _She wants you to drop your guard._

But why? Why would she do that? Why would Kray command her to do that? Because he definitely did, he had to, this had to all be staged and planned just for Kray’s intricate plan to come to fruition, a plan that Galo cannot see, _come on, think-_

"I think I can allow you to see him for a short while," the woman says. "You will have to go through a quick check on both ways, but it is a formality."

Should he refuse? Is this also part of the plan? Is Kray expecting it, planted a trap even here?

It's possible. Everything is possible with Kray in the equation, but Galo can't waver. If it was something smaller, less urgent, he would retaliate - but this is about Lio, and Galo can't stop, even if it means walking straight into a trap. Not when Lio is cornered at the mercy of a murderer. Not when there's a chance that he can be-

"Yes, thank you." It surprises him how small his voice sounds. How cold and calculated. 

The woman looks taken aback, too, but she collects herself quickly. _Too quickly?_ “Right, then.” Clears her throat. “Right this way, Mr. Thymos.”

He follows her down the corridor and into another room. It’s eerily similar to Ignis’s office, down to some creepy portraits hanging on the walls. Maybe all higher-ups have similar tastes in interior design, or maybe there are some unspoken rules in play here. 

Galo doesn’t care. He stands still as she comes closer and pats him over with a mildly apologetic smile and dabs at him with a metal detector. A lot of handiwork for a secretary, to be sure. Hm.

“It seems to me that you are ready to go,” she says.

Galo barely registers it. 

They come down another corridor. Another flight of stairs. There are barely any guards, anyone - is this really what a high-security prison should be? 

Suddenly it occurs to him that he will meet Kray for the first time since the world almost burned down. What will he be like? Defiant? As proud and unyielding as he was before, with an impenetrable mask of a smile? Or still in that state of rage, cold fury, _I wish you would just die._

Galo’s foot almost slips as he places it on a step. No. He has to be strong. He will do it. He will not waver. 

For Lio.

He collects himself and forces himself to go.

* * *

Lio thought he was accustomed to the pain by now. Yes, the spikes of it were still unpleasant, but his nerves had been overwhelmed for so long he would be able to grit his teeth and push through everything.

He was wrong.

The boiling water in the tub is nothing like he expected. He should have foreseen it, with such heavy steam being a dead giveaway, but his brain was too tired and focused on the threat hanging in front of him and pressing on his back to as much as consider that the water could hurt him as well.

It bites into his flesh, forces its way into the crevices of his wounds and seeps inside, and he can swear the tips of his nerves are cooking. He can’t stay upright, not on those legs, and he sobs as his body sinks into the water, every inch of his skin boiling, flaming, dying. 

The bathtub is deep and the water reaches his neck; the steam is hot as well, pushing its way into his airways. Inside of his throat and airways hurt and he can’t breathe, not with all this steam, not while his body is on fire and he can feel his exposed bone and tendons melting and-

A hand comes to his face and Lio almost sobs at how cool it is in comparison. He can’t help but lean into it before he yanks away, water sloshing around.

The man’s mouth quirks into a smile nonetheless. “Thought you will like it.”

 _Sick fuck_ , Lio has at the tip of his tongue, but speaking would require pulling much more of the steam inside his lungs than he’s willing to. He can already hear the blood pumping in his ears, and, oh, it looks like the wound around the broken bone has opened again, pink threads slowly creeping their way up to the surface.

He may die like this, he realizes. Just boil to death or pass out from the heat and drown. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Certainly would be better than looking at the man’s face, flushed from the heat - god, Lio hopes it’s the heat - and leaning over Lio, not even pretending he’s not ogling his body anymore.

Something cool dabs at his face and Lio whines when some cold water dampens his forehead. A sponge, he realises.

“Now, now. Don’t just soak in. We need to get you cleaned up properly.” The sponge moves in circles on his boiling skin and he can’t pull away - his body refuses to move, even as his mind screams to get away. He hates it, hates it even more when the man smiles triumphantly and squeezes some more cold water onto Lio’s heated body.

“Tell me something, Lio.” The man grabs his wrist, slung out of the tub, and the sponge disappears for a second, only to move there with its cold, rubbing circles on the inside of his hand. “What are your friends like?”

Does the man not know anything? Does he really think Lio will tell him a word about Gueira and Meis? 

Lio swallows as the man scraps at the dirt, slowly working his way up Lio’s arm. “I… I don’t have many friends, actually.”

“Mhm.” The sponge disappears and presses again, cold and damp. Does the man have a bowl with cold water Lio has not noticed? “What about the two generals?”

“I…” The crook of his elbow, and higher, slow circles, almost gentle against the burn marks. “They…” Names. He can’t reveal the names. “They’re called Gus and Alec and-”

A hand twists in his hair and before Lio can as much as gasp in pain his neck bends forward; water coils around him, blurs his vision and forces itself into his open mouth and nostrils. He tries to jerk back, but the hand keeps him firmly in place, clutches in his hair. Lio’s lungs start to burn; he can’t breathe, he can’t see, he kicks and flails his arms even though everything hurts and he sees red and black flash in front of his eyes, he can’t die, not like this, no, no, everything would be better than this, even-

His head snaps backwards and the burning oxygen feels like a blessing, even when Lio starts to cough so much he thinks he might vomit. 

“Oh, Lio.” Fingers thread through his hair and Lio freezes when they scrape against the skin of his neck. “You don’t need to lie to me. I know everything about you. I’ve been watching you for a long time. Meis and Gueira too.” Tips of the man’s finger press lightly into his skin, rubbing the places where he has just pulled Lio’s hair, and it’s almost tender. “And Thymos, of course.” Lio can feel the breath on his skin. “Would be a shame if something happened to him, wouldn’t it?”

Galo. Galo’s smile, Galo’s hands, his stupid laugh and jokes. His optimism, his energy, his passion, enough to guide everyone into the future he envisions. 

No matter what, Lio has to protect it. Fuck, it’s so selfish of him to wait for a rescue at all - Galo can’t allow himself to be distracted, to waver, not in the face of Foresight. Not again. 

Lio licks his lips. “What- what do you want?” 

He hates how his own voice trembles. He is not scared. He can’t be. He won’t be.

His hand is grabbed again, palms up, and a sponge brushes against the top of his shoulder, but the man’s breath stays on Lio’s skin. “Tell me how he fucks you.”

They have never even held hands. Never kissed. Lio has never, ever had someone as close to him as Galo was, and he could feel both of them wanted to go slow, careful not to disturb the delicate thing that started forming between them. Lio has never had time for feelings or intimacy, nothing more than the camaraderie that has formed between him and his generals, and his mind knew that pushing it would be a borderline sacrilege. 

But, gods, how he wishes he wasn’t so stupid. 

Lio licks his lips and ignores the prickling in his eyes. “He…” The sponge moves to the front of his chest, under the surface of the water, and it’s somehow worse that he cannot see clearly where the man’s hand is. “I…”

He doesn’t want to die here. Not like this. Not drowned in the bathtub, with a threat of- with a _threat_ hanging over his head, after all this time. The man wants for Lio to talk and he seems convinced that Galo and Lio have a relationship, so he has to lie. Carefully. 

Galo’s big hands, broad back, gently lowering him onto the bed. Sweet kisses down his neck and chest. But Lio knows it’s not what the man wants him to say. “He… He likes to do it from behind.”

The hand stills for a second and Lio prepares himself to be submerged again, but the man only breathes out against Lio’s skin and starts moving again. “Hmm.” Lio’s skin crawls when he feels just the faintest hints on lips brushing against his ear. 

The sponge is at the bottom of his ribs. He needs to talk. “Galo likes how small I am. Easier to move and press down.” Galo would never say that. He would ask if it’s okay before as much as touching him, would smile and blow raspberries on Lio’s stomach and laugh when Lio smacks him. 

The hand moves lower, brushes against his thighs. “I bet you are tight.” The sponge tilts and it presses on the inside of Lio’s legs, forcing them open, and then lower, under his balls-

“No.” It comes out small and weak and Lio hates himself for that. But he hates the hands on him even more, so he closes his eyes and tries not to shudder at the sudden exhale on his neck. “I- Please, I will do anything you want, just, please-”

He’s pathetic. He’s powerless. And all it took to get him to beg was to put a hand on his ass. 

The sponge bobs to the surface, abandoned, and fingers press in between his cheeks, circling against his entrance. “Anything, you say.”

“Please.” He can take the beating. He can take being branded, mutilated, but this- Anything but this.

“Hmm.” Lio can feel the smile against his skin. “But we need to get you cleaned up here as well, Lio.” 

_No, no-_ “Please, I can- _please_.” He needs to think. He needs to do something before he- “I- I can suck you off. Please.”

Man’s breath stills, and then returns in heavy and disgusting pants. Lio doesn’t shudder. He doesn’t. 

“Alright.” The hand disappears, as does the breath, and Lio feels a wave of relief before he realises what he has just agreed to. No, not agreed; he _offered_ , unprompted, like a slut, and that’s so much worse. It isn’t real. It can’t be real.

Lio hears the sound of a zipper coming undone. “Make it worth my time and I might just consider being nice to you today.” A hand tugs at Lio’s hair and his eyes snap open, just in time for him to catch something in the corner of his eye. “Turn that pretty head.”

Lio does. He’s never seen another man’s cock before - not like this, not erect and red, and not so close that he can feel the smell of sweat and musk, acidic and heavy, enough for him to want to gag. And it’s - it’s big, too big to fit inside his mouth. But it’s better than the alternative.

“Don’t even think about biting. I have other things to fuck you with.” _The metal from between her legs, heated iron on his skin, forcing deeper, harsher-_

The grip on his hair tightens and the man slides the dick on Lio’s cheek, soft and wet on the tip as he pulls back the foreskin. “Get on with it, slut. Show me what Thymos gets.”

Lio opens his mouth and hates himself as the tip pushes in past his lips. He tries to breathe around it and finds out he can’t; he inhales sharply through his nose and that makes his mouth clamp down.

The man hisses and yanks at Lio’s hair sharply, the tip falling out. “Mind your teeth, slut.”

Lio licks his lips and tastes something salty that makes his stomach turn. Acid rises to his throat and he gags, but there’s nothing left in his stomach. “Y-yes.”

“It’s ‘yes, sir.’ Remember that.” Another tug at his hair. “Say it.”

Lio would rather die. “Fuck you.”

“Such a dirty mouth.” The man’s hand cups his face and thumbs at a strand of saliva that slipped down Lio’s chin. “I wonder if Meis or Gueira would fight so much as well. Maybe I should bring them along here. Let them see how pretty their leader looks sucking a cock.”

Lio freezes. No, they can’t get involved, he can’t let them.

“Y-” His throat clamps down, refuses to work, and yet he forces the words out, spits them like he would the vomit rising inside of him. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy.” The man strokes his dick slowly and Lio almost winces at a soft squelch he hears. The smell, the aftertaste, the humiliation - it all swirls and mixes into a living nightmare in front of him. 

He opens his mouth again and tries to breathe as the man forces him forward, shoving himself way too quickly for comfort. It’s not even halfway in and Lio already feels like he’s going to suffocate, his mouth full of pulsing tissue, and yet he’s pushed further, deeper, until his eyes water from the pain of being torn apart from the inside, lips straining. 

He closes his eyes. _It’s Galo,_ he tries to convince himself, _you’re doing this to Galo, with his big hands and gorgeous smile and-_

“Fuck.” The man’s hand grips Lio’s head in place as he rocks back and forth. “Such a small pretty mouth. You were born for sucking cock.” His hips snap, too deep, and Lio gags; he can’t, his eyes can’t contain the tears anymore, he can’t _breathe_ -

A slap to the face comes without a warning. “Use your tongue more, slut, or I’m fucking you raw.”

There’s no place in his mouth to move, not with how full he is, but even the smallest twitch of his tongue makes the man groan, so he does it, again and again, tasting the salty precome. 

Is this cheating, if he’s making another man come with his mouth? Allows it? Participates? Would Galo blame him for this if he knew? 

“Oh, yes, like that.” Another hand comes to his hair, presses him forward in the rhythm of his hips. “You’re such a pretty slut. So perfect. _Fuck_.”

Lio chokes and gags around him. Maybe suffocating would have been better. At least then he wouldn’t have to hear the groans, feel the twitching of the man’s thighs and feel the sweaty pubic hair against his skin. He’s sure something in his throat ripped open with how slick and gross it feels even to his fading consciousness, how the man can now force all of his length into Lio. 

He’s going to die. He wants to die. Please. _Please._

“Oh, fuck.” Lio’s head is forced back and forth so roughly his neck might snap. _Please._ “I’m gonna cum. Hear that, slut? Your prissy mouth is making me cum. Taking that dick like you’re asking for it. Touch yourself.”

No. No.

A slap. “Touch yourself, slut. Put those fingers inside your pretty hole or I will.”

His lungs cry for oxygen, his limbs are heavy and sore. Nothing is real except the pain, the shame and that wet sound reverberating through the room, and Lio finds his hand already behind him, muscles red and relaxed, and he pushes in.

He doesn’t feel anything. 

“Oh shit, fuck, you’re perfect, such a desperate slut-” His hips snap, once, twice, and suddenly Lio can breathe again. He coughs and wheezes; he almost topples over but the hand in his hair keeps him in place, head tilted up. His brain is confused where the other has gone, but it’s not much of a mystery - the man jerks himself off centimeters from Lio’s lips in quick, harsh movements, eyes fixed on Lio’s face.

“Beg for it. Say, ‘please give me your cum, sir.’” Lio’s tears roll down his cheeks as the fingers in his hair yank at him. “Say it!”

“P-” He coughs, his throat is sore, he can taste the blood at the back of his throat. A slap comes, then again, and Lio sobs. The blows sting, the sound of wet flesh forces itself into his mind, he can’t think, can’t do anything but obey in hope that it will end. “P-please give me your cum, sir.”

The man groans, a finger finds its way in Lio’s mouth, snapping it open - and there’s something wet on his face, splashing against his lips and his cheeks, in his mouth. He coughs, more on a reflex than anything, but his mouth is snapped shut before he can spit it out.

“Swallow.” 

Lio does. It’s grimy and bitter in his throat, mixing with saliva and blood. He can’t think. His mind is hazy like before; he can breathe now, so why does he feel so light-headed?

A rustle and a small click. Lio raises his head to see a phone pointed at him, camera clicking. It’s old and seems cheap, but Lio’s heart leaps.

Before he can think he reaches with all of his body; the phone is knocked out of the man’s hands and falls right into Lio’s. He scraps around, ignoring the dull ache inside him, fingers grabbing at the buttons, he can call Galo, anyone, before-

Lio yelps at a harsh tug on his hair, but he doesn’t let go of the phone, even when another blow lands and a bigger hand grasps his wrist so hard it might break, but he can’t let go, not when he is so close. He slams in a number and presses the green button.

Lio feels his wrist snap. He doesn’t care. He yells, but he doesn’t let go - his eyes are glued to the screen, to the moving icons, to the sound of-

It doesn’t connect. Of course. Of course there’s no reception down here, he should have known, he should have-

Lio sobs and the phone tumbles into the man’s hands again. 

“Naughty boy.” Fingers trace the bump of rapidly swelling flesh down Lio’s hand. Lio expects pain, a punishment, but it doesn’t come. Instead the man puts his hands on him again, in his hair and the new wound and strokes them, almost soothing, almost gentle. And his clouded mind wants to lean into it, because at least it isn’t pain nor humiliation, almost _normal_ , and Lio is tired. He’s hungry. He hasn’t slept in god knows how long, and he’s naked and vulnerable and wants nothing more than to go home.

His tears have gone dry already, but he still sobs. And the man’s hands guide him through it.

* * *

Galo looks into the cell and sees his own reflection in Kray’s eyes.

“Galo.” A smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

It’s like he’s thirteen again, coming to Kray’s office to show his exam results, only to receive this lukewarm expression and voice that tells him he could have done better, laced with an undertone of something Galo couldn’t decipher then.

It’s disdain. He knows that, now.

“Gov.” The nickname slips off his tongue before he knows it. Kray doesn’t move. Didn’t he tell Galo he hates being called that? Oh, too late now. “We need to talk.”

Kray shifts on his chair and his hands fold together into that gesture of his, like he’s in his office again and not behind bars in prison clothes with an unmade bed and a dirty toilet next to him. “What about, I wonder?” 

“You know what about!” Galo’s voice raises and he’s glad the woman has left them alone; he can’t act calm and collected like Kray. He wants to act, move, _know_ what to do, and like this he’s useless, frustration collecting and boiling under his skin ever since he saw his flat burn up. 

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Kray tilts his head. He’s mocking him, Galo is sure. He’s also sure that Kray _knows_ where Lio is, that he’s responsible, just like Meis said-

No. He’s doing exactly what Kray wants - he’s getting angry, and he can be thrown out at a moment’s notice if he’s not careful. He has to collect himself.

Galo clears his throat. It comes out more loudly than he wants to, and the echo jumping off the walls almost makes him jump. _Collect yourself, huh?_ He might as well be banging his head on the wall. Or trying to bend the metal bars. Or-

“Well, Galo?” Kray’s voice is smooth and calm and way too close. When did he get so close? How did Galo not notice? “Is it simple sentimentality that brought you here? You always did love me quite a lot.”

“I never _loved_ you,” Galo spits out. It’s low, almost a growl, threatening and strong, but Kray doesn’t waver. “You lied to me.”

“No, Galo. It’s you who didn’t listen.” That cocky smirk disappears, finally, and Galo is greeted with what he knows now is the closest he can get to Kray’s true expression; mildly displeased, not a scowl, but not neutral, either. “But I doubt such a thing could be a reason for you to put so much effort into getting here.” Even with his half-closed eyes Galo can see Kray’s glare on him, scanning, gathering data, planning. 

Galo straightens his back, refuses to show just how uncomfortable it makes him. “Oh, really? What _could_ make me force myself to visit you, huh?”

“What indeed.” Kray spreads out the last word and Galo wants to punch him. This is getting nowhere. Kray either knows something or he doesn’t, and Galo _knows_ he does, he has to, but Kray is playing the game he knows all too well, spreading the web of words, waiting for Galo to slip and reveal something to use against him. And Galo has never been good at this. If it was Lio, or Meis, they surely would be able to spin this back around and make Kray trip, but he’s useless like this. And Kray knows it, of course he does. That’s why he allowed Galo here in the first place.

“You know about Lio.”

“There’s hardly anyone who does not. His murder was, ah, quite unfortunate.” Slight shift of his lips as he watches Galo’s expressions. Kray is subtle and reserved, his hands behind his back, towering over Galo. He must be an open book to Kray, never been able to learn to mask his emotions, but he can’t let it cost him everything. 

“Cut the bullshit. You know where he is.”

“Oh?” A slight tilt of his head and just barely there clench of a fist behind his back, real or rehearsed, Galo can’t tell. “You sound pretty certain of that.”

Galo shrugs. “I have my sources.”

“So you do.” Kray leans forward, face almost against the bars, so close Galo’s body screams at him to take a step back. He doesn’t. “For the sake of argument, let’s pretend that you are right. What then?”

Okay. He’s admitting it, right? “You tell me everything, of course.”

“As stupid as ever.” A smile stretches his lips, cold and merciless as when he was looking down at Galo in his robot, sure of impending victory. “What can you possibly offer me that I don’t already have?” 

Galo knows the answer to that, of course he does, but he refuses to believe that. He can’t bargain Lio for Kray. It’s not what Lio would have wanted.

And yet, some small, selfish part of him screeches, throws around, _it doesn’t matter if he’s not here, nothing matters, nothing_ -

Galo swallows, hard. “I…” His voice is small, too small, too fragile. “It depends on what you can give me in return.”

“I told you, Galo. This is merely an _if_ scenario; I may not know anything, but maybe I do.” Kray knows what he’s doing. Galo is sure Kray can feel his desperation, his tiredness, how he searched relentlessly for anything, a scrap of hope or a clue, and found nothing, only more questions. Kray knows and dangles the answers in front of him, just barely out of his hands' reach. 

He wants Galo to name the price. And if Galo gives him anything but what he wants, he will pretend not to know anything and leave Galo at square one, hopeless, without a shade of a clue. Kray would leave Lio to die. 

What if Lio is dead? What if he gives Kray too much, just to discover Lio is beyond saving, burned corpse with glass eyes and open mouth tasting of ash, _come on, don’t disappear, please-_

Kray watches him with a smile, eyes as cold as ever. 

“You should decide quickly, Galo.” Frosty and crisp, ready to crush Galo’s frozen form. “Who can tell what _could_ happen.”

Galo can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t think when he’s pinned down like this, Kray staring at him with that tilt in his head like a snake about to sink his teeth into a prey and lull it with his venom. And Galo is powerless against it, even if he could reach through the bars and try to put his hands on Kray. Their fight before everything burned was different, tons of steel separating them enough for Galo to pretend it’s not Kray, Lio’s fire enough to soothe the shouts of his mind. 

And then his phone vibrates and he draws in a breath as the moment breaks. Well, at least now he has an excuse not to look at Kray’s face for a second and collect himself.

 _Private number,_ the phone informs him. Maybe something about the trial again. He clicks on the notification.

Galo’s eyes meet Lio’s and the world crumbles.

* * *

The bathtub stays. Lio doesn’t know if it’s because it took a lot of work just to put it here and the man is just lazy, or he has some other plans with it in mind. Either way, it still stands in the middle of the room, full of stinking dirty water and coagulating blood. 

Soon there comes another addition: a mattress smelling fresh and clean so much it feels out of place. On the bright side, Lio at least has a place to lay in without feeling concrete dig into his flesh, and it is probably the only relatively sterile thing in the basement. Plus he could probably sleep now. 

On the other hand, Lio knows exactly what it is for, even if the man won’t admit it. And even if he seems satisfied with what Lio did there’s no guarantee that he won’t try to do something - something _else._

No, he’s just deluding himself; the man will _definitely_ do the worst. Lio just doesn’t know when.

The man seems to delight in hanging the threat over Lio’s head, pushing and pushing, making him believe that that’s finally it. Lio has not gotten his clothes back and he never will for all he knows, even if he forgets that his skin is still reddened and rash from the water. Not when the man likes to ogle him so much. Not when they would be in the way if he decided to do the worst.

“Like what you see?” Lio’s legs are spread, again, but he will be damned if he submits to that bastard, even if words are his only weapon now. “Fucking pervert.”

The man hovering over him does not look put off in the slightest. “Quite.”

“Getting off on beating up and threatening someone? No surprise here. No way someone would ever take you willingly.”

“Oh, but you were willing. You begged, remember?” The hands on Lio’s thighs are too much. The burns are starting to heal, but there will be scars. _You scar so nicely, Lio_.

“Like you gave me any choice.” He wants to kick. Punch. But he can’t move his legs and now an arm. His body is being broken, little by little, tendon by tendon. And the man doesn’t seem like he wants to stop.

Well, at least he did not hurt Lio physically ever since he had came all over his face. Lio wishes he did.

“You did have a choice. And you chose to play along.” Fingers tracing the inside of his thighs, down, down. “You consented.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry. Just need to make sure you are loose and wet like a good girl.”

Lio snarls. “I’m a girl now? Nice to know. Should I call you ‘daddy,’ too?”

“If you wish to, sweetie.” Saccharine sweet words, soft touch - all of it is new and Lio still winces a little despite knowing better. It was better when he was being insulted. He could take insults; he was called worse. This… His brain doesn’t know how to handle _this._

Fingers trace lower, under his balls, around his hole. “How many fingers can you fit?”

Lio rolls his eyes. “Like I would tell you.”

“Then I suppose we will have to find out.” A finger is shoved inside and Lio winces; no lube, no cleaning, it’s disgusting just to think about it. Well, at least he’s allowed to use the bathroom more frequently now. He would rather not think about what it means.

“I knew you would be tight.” He pushes further until Lio can feel the rest of the fingers curled up against his ass. It’s uncomfortable, especially when the man rubs against his insides, and Lio hopes he gets his hands smeared in shit.

“Galo likes it that way.” Lio despises himself for dirtying Galo like this, but it seems to make the man angry, the comparison, even though he asked for it before.

This time, too, his fingers still for a second. “Oh?” He moves forward, hovers over his body, breath tickling Lio’s face. Lio is not scared.

But his body doesn’t know that, and he shivers nonetheless.

“I wonder if he trained you to always be this tight.” Fingers push away, almost completely out - and then two more push forward, rough and all too big, and Lio gasps. “You are an ideal wife like this. Tempting everyone with that tight pussy, just asking to be pushed down and taken.”

It hurts, a sharp, piercing pain of being pushed open with sheer force, his insides clenching around the intrusion. The man doesn’t let him rest; he cleaves his fingers and Lio feels them probing, not as much searching as just pushing as hard as they can.

“I almost wish you were a woman. You know why, Lio?” He leans on him, all his weight on Lio, and it crushes his skin just as much as the fingers crush his insides. “So I could pump you full of my cum and impregnate you. You would give birth right here, with me, and every day when you would give your fat tits to suck to the child you would look at them and see my face, and remember that I was the one to breed you.”

He’s hard against Lio’s stomach. His sweatpants are straining and there is already a wet spot forming on the front as he rocks into the space between Lio’s legs, just barely on his stomach, and it suddenly hits Lio just how big he is; he can feel the length from the bottom of his pelvis to his bellybutton, there’s no way it could ever fit inside when three fingers already feel like he’s about to break.

Lio fakes a snarl. “Sick fuck.”

The man laughs. “Feisty girl.” The fingers inside Lio push back and forth, quick and forceful enough for Lio to move with every shove. The man moves his hips in rhythm and it’s like Lio’s being fucked, here, losing his virginity on a cheap mattress to a murderer. Lio has never thought of virginity - the concept is mostly used to demonize sex, he thinks, and yet some part of him feels violated, stripped of dignity as the man moans and gets off on his body. It’s not fair; he was supposed to- with Galo-

The man moves his hips and suddenly grinds on Lio’s flaccid cock. Lio gasps and tries to close his legs on instinct, but only succeeds in making his body flash in pain.

The man stills for a fraction of a second and Lio hopes, begs in his mind that he’s disgusted, will push him away and stop.

He doesn’t.

He pushes Lio’s legs open until the tendons in his thighs are about to snap. “Oh?” He leans back, a smile stretching his lips as he looks down at Lio’s cock. He pulls his fingers out of Lio, and Lio is almost grateful for that until a hand ghosts over the tip of his penis. 

No. That isn’t how it’s supposed to go; the man would use Lio’s body to get off and leave, not-

Lio shudders at the pressure as the man drags his hand down to Lio’s balls, light squeeze, and then back up to the tip. No. He’s not feeling it, he can’t be feeling it, his body can’t betray him like this - but it does, and Lio shudders, feeling his muscles clench with every movement.

“You like it.” A hint of surprise and amusement.

“No!” Lio scowls, commanding his hips to stay in place, and not- not do what they are trying to do. The feeling is different than his own hand; he has never allowed anyone to touch him like this, never, and his body wants - wants _something_ , and this alone is more scary than anything the man can do.

“You are filling up,” the man says in a raspy voice. He changes his grip, all of his hand wrapping around Lio’s cock with ease, and, fuck, Lio doesn’t need to look to know that his body is responding. “Such a pretty pink color.” He pulls back Lio’s foreskin and presses his thumb onto his slit, rubbing it, and Lio cries out as he exhales. 

The man moves forward again, slow strokes from Lio’s base to the tip. He presses his hand to the side of Lio’s face and caresses it, too, and Lio wants to bite his finger off, but the man chooses that exact moment to press somewhere and _oh._

“Shh, sweetie.” A breath on his neck, slow flickers of tongue matching the pressure. “It’s alright. You can show me. I know you’re feeling good.” He twists his wrist and Lio’s hips snap into the tight heat before he can stop them. Something coils in the bottom of his stomach, something different than all the times when he jerked himself off quickly in a shower to relax, and he hates how much it ruptures through him, floods his senses and overtakes his mind. He shouldn’t, he can’t-

“Shh, baby girl.” Small kisses and strokes of his skin, heat, his hips rocking despite everything he commands them. Lio sobs, whimpers tearing out of his throat with every inhale and exhale, and he can’t stop it; he buries his head in the man’s shoulder and hopes that it will muffle it, even a small bit, god-

“It’s alright, sweetie, I got you.” Lio cries out, again and again, and it’s doesn’t _hurt_ , it floods his brain with something sweet and soft and he wants to cum so bad, but he can’t, he shouldn’t, he won’t give that bastard the privilege of being the first that brought Lio pleasure, all while mumbling those sickly sweet words that mean nothing, just like Galo would, Galo on him, big clumsy hands and sweet mouth and tight heat on him, no, he doesn’t want this, none of this, he _needs_ to cum, he wants- he-

Lio dies in a flash of white, in his hips jumping and stuttering, voice tired and broken after crying so much in someone’s arms, and nothing is real except the pleasure drowning him, silencing everything and breaking his mind into pieces, hard and fast and too much, too little. It ruptures through him in waves, nothing like he has felt before, again and again, and he doesn’t know if he’s shouting or breathing or even alive, because it should not be like this, that prolonged and intense, sweet jolts coursing through his legs, everything so sensitive.

It lasts an eternity, but it ends, too quick - too long. His dick hurts, oversensitive, when the man finally lets his grip loosen, instead rubbing small circles on his thighs. 

“You didn’t come much,” he says against Lio’s skin. He’s not hard anymore, Lio realises. Did he really get turned off? No, definitely not, not with how his breath licks at Lio’s neck, how careful he’s being. He moves an inch and Lio catches a glimpse of his sweatpants - the wet spot is much bigger now. Did he really come in his pants? Just from watching Lio?

“I suppose that’s expected. You are hungry and dehydrated, after all.” Even though Lio can’t see his eyes, he feels he’s being observed, studied, and suddenly it occurs to him that there’s drool on his face. He- Did he really let himself go that much? _Allowed_ himself to-?

He tries to wipe it off with his non-dominant hand - not really a choice, given that it’s pretty much the last limb he can fully move - and only succeeds in smearing it all across his cheeks. 

A chuckle. “Aww.” The man raises on his elbows, hands beside Lio’s head, and stares at him with that awful smile. “Such a sloppy girl.” He cradles the side of Lio’s face and Lio hopes that the wet thing on his fingers is the spit. “See? It’s so much better when we are honest with each other.”

Lio should want to bite him, snap back with something witty and sharp. Should want to taste blood, tear his throat open when he’s vulnerable and watch him bleed to death, tear that stupid, sickly sweet grin, as if he didn’t just- As if he didn’t force Lio. 

But he can’t. His body shudders, proof of his weakness, and he can’t even cry with how hungry and thirsty he is, how sore his throat has become. 

The man plays with his hair. “You were a good girl today,” he says, fingers trying to untangle the mess that once was Lio’s most liked part of himself. “We should help you put some meat on these bones.” Another hand on his side, down his hips, tracing the tip of his pelvis. “Can’t let that pretty ass go to waste, now. I want to feel it when I finally fuck you.”

_He’s not going to do this now. Not now. Not if I don’t eat. Not if I’m good._

The thoughts cross through Lio’s head before he notices them. A freezing chill runs down his spine as the man’s eyes lock onto his own, cloudy and dark; he must fight, must move, in any way possible - Galo will come for him, Meis and Gueira will find him, for sure. They will, they will.

Lio needs to repeat that until it becomes reality. For now, he has to survive. Just survive as long as he can. 

He shivers when the man presses his lips to Lio’s own, just the smallest brush of skin, and yet it lingers for eternity. 

Lio closes his eyes and cries dry tears.

* * *

Galo drives to the lake. 

He all but throws his bike aside. The frozen lake is still there, even though he probably should have checked if the ice has become thick enough for him to walk on again.

But he doesn’t. It creaks under his boots as he stomps on it and a part of him wants for it to break, crush him, drown him, drown _someone,_ Kray or _that fucking bastard, with Lio, with his eyes red and mouth open and full of, god, what the fuck-_

Galo yells and kicks on the ice, hard. It cracks, but holds stubbornly. The white and light blue of it hurt his eyes with the reflection of sunshine, so fucking bright even when Lio is somewhere getting _raped_ right this fucking second.

The photo got burned into his retinas, Galo is sure. He only got a glimpse of it, and yet he remembers everything, every pixel of that poor quality shot. Lio’s red eyes, the cuts on his arms, saliva dripping down his chin and red dick on his lips, filling his mouth with come-

Galo hates it. He hates it so much his phone almost cracked in his hand when he saw it. He hates it because Kray _knew_ , he had to, and he _allowed it._ He hates it because that one time he had quickly jacked off in the shower while thinking of Lio on his knees with his face smeared with come and it was _hot_ , and now he wants to throw up every time he remembers it, and it feels like he betrayed Lio. 

It’s not supposed to be like this. Nothing is supposed to be like this. They should have had their happy ending and Galo should have had enough courage to properly ask Lio out and hold his hand, and now it’s all _gone_ , all the tenderness stripped from them.

Lio is hurting and Galo can’t help. Can’t even as much as strike a deal with Kray. Can’t do anything right, can’t save him, and there’s not even a fucking robot he could pilot and beat his problems to a pulp.

World was better when he could do that. But nothing is easy anymore, is it?

Galo looks at the ice under his boots and the weight of that damn phone in his pockets is crushing him into the ground, pulling him down, and he wonders if Prometh is still down there. If he’s still looking. If he knows what Kray did once again. For a person who had a giant robot ready at a moment’s notice not caring about what comes after the end of the world seems awfully careless.

Then again, the world isn’t at stake anymore. Not for most, anyway. Lio is not a Burnish anymore, not an engine that could be used for one thing or another. He’s just a person, a regular human being, even if he did carry the world on his shoulders.

But he’s Galo’s person. Galo’s _friend._ Galo’s- well. He’s important. Not only because he’s beautiful and strong and held Galo’s hand and gave him his fire when everything else was freezing, not because how soft his lips felt and the small smile on his face as he says _welcome home, Galo._ Lio deserves to be rescued because he’s human, because he needs to be rescued, and it is no less important than stopping Kray was all this time ago. 

And once again, Galo needs to stand up and act on his own. This time without Lio joining him.

The ice creaks under his boots as he walks forward. His legs know the route, even if his mind finds it hard to recall the exact way through the ice and then trees. The cave is still here, surprisingly - with all that mess going around one would think it would have collapsed, but it stands as it was. His footsteps echo in the exact way they did when he first crawled in.

But there’s no fireplace here. Not even embers, not a sign that anyone has been hiding here. No proof that he and Lio talked here for the first time, a real, genuine conversation that set off the spark in him to grow into an inferno that became their link. 

Galo knows that Lio can’t be here, but his heart sinks anyway. 

He sinks to the cold ground and stares at where the fire should be. 


	4. Chapter 4

Lio looks at the food in front of him and, for the first time in a long while, his mind clears up. 

A tall glass full of weirdly colored liquid - not soda, not juice, more like water with something mixed in. It’s enough of a clue to tell Lio not to trust it, and if he looks closer, he can see that the syrup on the pancakes is just a bit too thick and muddy. Even when cut to small pieces it’s clear that the batter is weird, too, completely different than what Galo makes.

Lio’s mouth waters nonetheless. 

“Eat, baby girl.” The man puts the tray with food on it on the edge of the mattress. Lio hoped for a fork - if not a weapon, then at least something for him to grab onto to have some semblance of control, but the fork on the tray is made of cheap plastic. The worst he could do is scratch himself, even if he could move properly. “Made it just for you.”

“I don’t doubt that.” It worries Lio how the man has… changed. He’s more careful around Lio now, and he doesn’t hurt him like in the beginning when he was obsessed with causing as much pain as possible. Doesn’t call him a dirty Burnish. Doesn’t press on the wounds with a sheer purpose to make Lio wince. Instead, it’s like he _likes_ touching Lio - and there it is, when he sits down next to Lio, a hand on his waist, as if Lio needs help to be kept upright.

A chuckle. “Breakfast in bed, just for you, baby.” And there’s… this. This weird pseudo-intimacy. Lio is sure it’s a joke - until it isn’t, and he’s left with a clouded mess of a situation. He feels the dynamic has shifted, even if he still can’t do anything about it. 

He won’t be able to talk his way out of this. But maybe, if he’s so battered and vulnerable, the man will slip and tell Lio more than he should. Just enough for Lio to gain some leverage. 

Lio forces his body to relax when the man presses against his side. “The water looks… peculiar. Did you add something?” 

He stills for a moment and Lio prepares himself for a strike - and it doesn’t come. “Just something to help you relax,” the man says, hungry fingers roaming his skin. “You need to eat, sweetie, if you want to stay pretty.And you’ve been so tense lately.”

 _Why, I wonder_ , Lio almost spits out. So, drugs. That’s new. And definitely _not_ something good. True, some painkillers and maybe something to fight an infection would be good, but Lio doubts it’s just that. His mind is his only weapon now; he can’t lose it, not when it’s all that stands between being completely and utterly broken.

Lio won’t be broken.

He takes a deep breath, collects himself, and kicks the tray.

Pain yanks at his body, soles of his feet yelling when raw meat meets glass; the plate jumps, just enough to make a pretty arch and shatter, sending pieces of broken china and food everywhere, muddy water spilling all over, biting into the open wound, and yet Lio can’t help but laugh like a madman when he sees just how _easy_ it is, even with shards of glass in his tendons, even with the iron grip on his side, almost crushing his ribs. 

The look on the man’s face tastes better than that drugged food ever could. 

He’s shoved harshly to the floor, his head almost hitting the concrete with full force. 

“Bitch,” the man hisses, fingers digging into Lio’s arms. 

Lio laughs. “Fuck you.”

A hand raises and Lio hears ringing in his ears as he’s slapped across the face. “Do you have _any_ idea how hard it was to get you your medicine?” Another slap. “Ungrateful _slut._ ” Something breaks in his mouth and Lio tastes blood. He doesn’t care.

“Go fuck yourself,” Lio chirps, a smile streching his lips even when the man grunts and hits his face so hard he feels his head jump by the impact. He won’t hurt him. He can’t. If Lio doesn’t eat, he will die, and maybe it would be best to die just to spite the bastard. And he definitely won’t give him the satisfaction of being drugged into oblivion.

He won’t hurt him. He won’t, because Lio is too thin and he doesn’t like bony whores. He won’t hurt him because Lio’s body is already broken and there’s no amount of pain he can inflict that Lio hasn’t been through already.

The man raises his hand again - and stills. “Oh. I get it.” Lio flinches as the fingers touch his face, but the man simply brushes against the reddened skin, too light to cause pain. “You are confused. And you get scared when you are confused.” His expression softens, almost fond as he hovers over Lio and presses closer. “You see, Lio, I think it’s time to help you become a proper girl. So I got you some medicine to make it happen.”

Lio’s lips hurt, chapped and dry with blood stinging at the cuts. “What?”

“You are broken, Lio. So I will fix you.” Fingers catch on a tangle in his hair and pull just enough for Lio to tilt his head up. He can’t escape this gaze, wide eyes and a lazy smile that seems more wicked and twisted than any over exaggerated scowl could be. “You just need a little help, and you will become the most beautiful girl. My baby girl.”

What the fuck. It has to be a joke. Some sick joke to get Lio to freak out, to make him disgusted and scared.

But there’s no hint of malice in those eyes, only that weird, saccharine softness, and it’s that what makes Lio shudder.

“You’re sick.” He means it as an insult, but what comes out of his lips sounds too weak, too quivering to be one.

The man shakes his head, almost sad. “No, baby. You are. But that’s okay. I will bring you another dose, okay?” His lips rub against Lio’s forehead, too wet and slick, and Lio wants to throw up.

“No.” 

The man stills. “What did you say?”

“No,” Lio repeats. “I won’t- For fuck’s sake, I don’t get what you are playing at, but I won’t do it, I will _never_ fucking do it, I am a _man_ and-”

Fingers wrap around his throat and Lio chokes, suddenly not able to breathe. 

“You _will_.” Nails dig into his skin and tendons, the man putting more force on it as his face hovers just above Lio’s, finally a scowl in place of that creepy smile.

“Fuck you,” Lio says again, and regrets it immediately as he tries to suck in a breath on instinct and discovers that his airway is all but crushed.

The world swirls and suddenly Lio is not so sure the man wouldn’t kill him like this. He tries to struggle, to throw him off, but he can only raise his hand and try to claw at the grasp when suddenly even that is taken from him, the man all but slamming Lio’s wrist next to his head, and he can’t move, can’t scream-

“Oh, that’s a good face.” Wet breath on his face, sudden weight crushing him, _not again, please, I can’t take it._

But Lio does. The man takes Lio’s slack hand and grinds into it, disgusting slick squelching, and Lio’s oxygen-starved mind can only hope he can die this time. 

He doesn’t. The man finishes on his face too quick and too late, finally the grip on Lio’s throat lessening enough for the dark spots before his eyes to disappear. Only when Lio hears the door slam behind him he allows himself to curl up on the mattress and feel sorry for himself.

* * *

Galo doesn’t know how long he has been in the cave. He only becomes aware of the passing time when the cold finally seeps through his clothes and chills him to the bone, and when he crawls out, the sky is already going dark.

He feels like shit. Not like it’s anything new, but it still isn’t exactly a thing he welcomes with open arms. When was the last time he ate something? Did he have breakfast?

Galo’s stomach curls at the mention of food. Okay, then better not force it. He gets on his bike and drives back to the city, fighting the nausea rising in his throat as his guts squeeze and remind him that his body _hates_ being hungry.

He is about to make a turn for the station when a small cafe catches his eye. He parks his bike without thinking much about it and wobbles inside, hoping he does not look like he has just spent half a day rolling in the dirt.

It’s grey and dull and nothing really in particular. Galo knows this place - he isn’t a coffee person himself, but Ignis and Remi certainly are, and Galo has run some errands for them here and there when he was still a rookie. They always complain about how lukewarm and watery it is in between sips, and he has asked them once why do they continue to drink it if it’s that disgusting, but he only got a blank stare in Ignis’s case and a roll of his eyes from Remi, like they both wanted to say something along the lines of ‘Still a kid, I see.’

He orders something from the long list of fanciful expressions on the wall that tell him exactly nothing and accepts a cup with his name written on it without much thought. The staff are convincingly bored-looking and polite, but he knows people are staring at him, some more openly than others, and Galo ignores them all, choosing the chair next to a small table for two in the corner. Well, it’s on him, really. He should have known better than to go and order something so close to the station. Press was only nice for the first two days or so. 

Galo takes a sip from the paper cup. It’s way too sweet and at the same time way too bitter. It in itself is probably a culinary achievement, albeit one that Galo’s stomach definitely doesn’t like as it sloshes inside his guts. He considers throwing it into the trash and crossing the street to the station, even if he really doesn’t want to, when someone walks to him with too much conviction in their step to be spying.

“Hey, Mr. Thymos.”

Galo is sure he doesn’t know the woman and he stares at her face for a long two seconds before his mind recognizes her. “Oh, you are the lawyer from the trial, right? From the confessions?”

She flashes a row of blindingly white teeth as she smiles. “The name is Tanya, actually.” She doesn’t wait for his permission as she sinks into the chair opposite to him, flailing her long, curly hair around as she does. She brings her own cup close to his and takes about half a second on the other side of the table before she moves her chair closer, and Galo is almost grateful at how she blocks the line of sight of everyone who might be still staring at him. 

“So.” She props her hands on her chin and looks Galo straight in the eye. “What brings you here?”

“Uh,” Galo says. She has long lashes, he notices, and she likes to bat them a lot from behind her glasses. “Coffee.”

“They do make a perfect _ristretto_ ,” she says, not even as much as trying to make herself look interested in the contents of her cup. “What did you order?”

“Uh,” Galo says again, wondering why a lawyer would be interested in his coffee.

“It’s so nice to see that even someone like the hero of Promepolis appreciates good coffee.” She doesn’t seem thrown off by the fact that all of Galo’s intellectual capabilities just took a plummet down. Maybe the hunger finally has caught up to him. “If I had known you would come to this place, I would have invited you myself!” She giggles. Galo can’t figure out why. She doesn’t seem to be thrown off by that, either.

Galo takes another sip of his beverage - it would be an insult to call it coffee - just to do something with his hands.

“I wanted to talk to you anyway,” Tanya says. 

“What about?”

“Our line of attack, mostly. We need to make some adjustments for things to go smoothly. With Fotia no longer in the picture it could easily go out of hand.”

Even the sticky sugary milk in his throat doesn’t suppress the bitterness spreading on his tongue. The trial. Of fucking course it continues, even with Lio being held somewhere by a psycho and-

“I would argue that it’s a good thing, actually.” She finally reaches for her cup, long nails painted a shade of red just short of looking fluorescent. “Fotia is, ah, quite controversial as a witness.” She takes a small sip and swirls her tongue on the small spill on the cover, eyes still on Galo.

Galo doesn’t care. “What do you mean?”

She blinks, long and theatrical. “There are… _rumors_ , you know. About you and Fotia.”

“What kind of rumors?”

She waves her hand with a smile. “Oh, usual pesky press stuff. Mostly about Fotia seducing you into letting him stay in your home and manipulating you into the conflict with Governor Foresight. I don’t believe it, of course.” She leans in over the table and Galo can see how her shirt is almost halfway unbuttoned, a line of her bra peeking proudly into the open. “It _is_ one of the arguments the other side is making, however. Fortunately, it’s one that can be very easily debunked. Especially now, with Fotia not present.”

“This- This is bullshit.” Galo doesn’t notice his fingers are clenching the paper cup until he feels it give out under his fingers. He lets go immediately, but the damage is done, with sad dents all over it. “Lio- Lio needed a place to stay, he crashes at mine, he would never-”

“I said I do not believe it.” She doesn’t lean back, still close, long nails almost brushing Galo’s skin, and Galo can almost count the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “You are a handsome man, Mr. Thymos. Definitely have a broader pool of partners to choose from.” Her nails scrap on the top of his hand, and then the tips of her fingers, soft and small. “No need to settle for a man, and a terrorist Burnish, to boot.”

Galo takes his hand back. “Lio is not a terrorist. And not a Burnish anymore.”

That seems to surprise her, because she freezes for a fraction of a second before slapping a smile on her lips again. “Of course,” she says and straightens her back, finally not splaying herself over the table. “Nonetheless, it _is_ used by the defender’s side as an argument. All I’m saying is that setting the record straight would be beneficial. For both of us.”

She bats her eyelashes once more, and suddenly Galo understands. Even more so when he feels long nails on his thigh, sharp and hard even through the thick material of his all too formal trousers.

“I-” He licks his lips and tastes the disgusting sweetness. She still smiles coquettishly as before, nice and professional and definitely not like her hand under the table is moving dangerously close to Galo’s crotch. 

It’s not like he’s completely… _unfamiliar_ with the concept. He had his fair share of girlfriends, most of who were quick to dump him after he started infodumping too much or had to explain for the hundredth time that his shifts are usually twelve or more hours and decided dating is too much of a hassle. And recently… There’s Lio, too. 

But he has never had someone come on to him so openly. Not so much as to feel him up in a public space. 

He’s not sure he likes it. “I- uh.” He knows his face is red, and the way she watches him is all too dark, almost predatory. “I don’t see what you would get out of- of helping me.”

“You are a handsome man, Mr. Thymos,” she repeats. Her nails scrape at the button of his pants. “Let’s just call it a concern for the future.”

“My future?”

She tilts her head. “Among others.” She can so easily open up his trousers and put her hand inside, but she toys with the opening, pushing and pulling. “A little bird told me you might be in need of assistance in a matter concerning Governor Foresight.”

“How do you-”

“Promepolis is a fairly small city when you have the right connections.” She’s still smiling as before, but Galo freezes. 

She knows. She has to know somehow what happened today. And she understood what Kray wants, even if Galo isn’t sure himself. Does she know about the photo? What Lio is going through? Is she working for Kray?

_How many people do?_

“We can help each other, you know. In the name of unity and all.” She leans in close once again and her long hair tickles Galo’s face. “You need allies if you want to win, Thymos. I am more than happy to provide.” Her breath is as sickly sweet as the coffee was. 

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. She knows. People know. Kray knows. The only one who doesn’t is Galo, rooted in place by the woman’s hand on his pants, stinking of sweat in his all too tight shirt and liquid sloshing in his guts.

And then she takes her hand back and Galo can suddenly breathe again. 

“I’m not telling you to decide now, of course.” She grabs her cup again and takes a sip, downing her coffee. “But please think about it. Deeply.” She grins and Galo almost jumps as her hand touches his, but she retracts quickly, and he sees a small piece of paper there. 

She stands up with a spring in her step. “I will be waiting for your call, Mr. Thymos.”

Galo stares at her as she walks away. 

He throws his coffee in the trash before waddling to the station. The business card in his pocket burns his skin the whole way.

* * *

Lio must have dosed off. He must have, because when he opens his eyes lights are back on.

He tries to sit and discovers he can’t. He isn’t hungry anymore, at least. Breathing still hurts and so does his throat, but it seems his body concluded it is bored of pain and decided to shut down as much as it could. Lio can appreciate that, even if it makes him even weaker than before.

What he doesn’t appreciate is the grin on the man’s face. “The princess has finally decided to wake up.”

How long has he been here, standing over Lio and looking at him? Did he do something while Lio was out cold? Did he finally-

No. His body is cold and numb, but there’s no trace of any new seed on him, nor anything else that could indicate that. Which is worse. What the fuck does he want now?

“I’m not a woman,” Lio mumbles.

Even that doesn’t make the smile disappear. “I thought you would say that. So I have something for you.” The man is too cheerful, too content with how enraged he acted the last time. Something’s wrong.

“You see, Lio. I need to help you see who you really are.” “You seem so bent on convincing me, so maybe a little test would be in order.”

He inches closer, too close, and Lio tenses under his hands when they slip around his waist and yank him up, back to the wall and legs splayed, but more or less sitting.

And then Lio sees it, just behind the mess of food and glass still stinking on the floor.

_your fault your fault smoke can’t breathe legs open-_

It’s not her. It can’t be her, she’s in a morgue or already buried, he knows this, and yet Lio looks at the corpse on the floor and sees her again, her naked body and vulnerability as she burns. 

“A woman for you, Lio. If you are a man, surely you can show me exactly how you like your woman.”

She isn’t moving. And Lio can see exactly why; in the place where her head should be there is nothing, only a dark stump where her neck ends, uneven with strands of tendons and skin hanging like someone tried to cut it off and kept slipping, leaving dark cuts all over the pale flesh.

“I chose her for you, Lio. A Burnish bitch, just like you. She’s tight and wet, so easy to make her spread her legs. Yelled like a banshee the whole time. At least she’s quiet now.”

He… he forced himself on her. He forced her and now she’s dead, mutilated and naked because of Lio. All because Lio was stubborn and clung to his pride and it’s his fault, again. She didn’t have to die,

“Come on. Take a look at her.” Lio is grabbed under his arms and he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to see. His body makes a weak attempt at struggling, not nearly enough to break free or stop the man from hoisting him up and dragging over, legs lifeless under him.

Lio wants to close his eyes, but some part of him makes him look, that terrified part in the depths of him that is all too aware of the fact that the man is looking at him, observing, and he can make Lio do _anything_. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” The man drags Lio in front of her, not close enough to touch, thank God, but Lio still has the view of her body, legs obscenely splayed open. “Most people do look better after death. You, however… You may be an exception to the rule.”

He’s going to kill him. He’s going to kill Lio just the way he killed this woman, he’s going to push him down and pin his legs and there’s something dripping between her legs, from inside her, that bastard really-

The man watches him stare at her. “Maybe you need a closer look.”

“No,” Lio cries, but it’s too weak, too small, and he is pushed forward, legs giving even before he tries to use them, and he’s falling face first onto the body. It moves with the impact, just so slightly, and the slap of skin against skin is all wrong, Lio’s face against its bare chest, so cold. He can see the dried blood and hanging tendons and bone, and he gags, acid rising even though he’s so _hungry_. He tries to move back, but his body doesn’t want to work properly, not even the one hand he can move, so he whimpers against the corpse and tries to not feel.

“Feel how soft she is?” The man is behind him, stroking the skin on Lio’s back, and Lio can’t fight back as he takes Lio’s hand and forces it against a breast. “Every man likes nice tits, Lio.” He tugs Lio’s hand lower, past her hips, _no, god_ -

“I made her wet for you,” the man says against Lio’s back, and Lio can _feel it,_ cold meat covered in moisture. “Her tight cunt is all ready for your cock. Take her like the _man_ you are.”

Her skin sticks to him, all too naked. The man moves, heavy breath on Lio’s back, and takes a hold of Lio’s soft cock-

“Please, no.” It hurts, but he forces himself to push his hips back. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Oh?” The hand stills. “But you are a _man_ , Lio. You want that wet pussy.” His tone is mocking, low, and Lio feels a grin against his skin.

“No,” Lio cries. The man allows him to push his hips away from the corpse - and he is met with something else, the hardness all too familiar now. The man groans, hands flying to Lio’s hips with just the smallest suggestion of a tug. He can win. He can avoid it. 

Lio swallows his pride and says, “I’m a woman.”

“Are you, now.” Fingers dig in his hips. He can so easily make Lio do whatever he wants. He can make Lio move forward and into the corpse or shove his own pants down and push into him dry. He can, and he knows this, delects in this. Lio holds no power over what is happening.

But the man could have forced him earlier and he didn’t, so Lio has to pray his guess is right. 

“I’m a girl,” Lio says. He closes his eyes and pushes harder against the hardness in the man’s pants. Another growl, fingers tightening on his hips. Good? Bad? He can’t tell. He doesn’t care as long as it keeps him away from the stench of the corpse, that earthy, sweet and sour smell of skin and dead arousal.

“But are you a good girl?” Sharp shove back, into the hardness, and Lio is so glad the man still has his sweatpants on. This position, head down, ass in the air and the man behind him, open legs in front of his face - it’s too much, it’s disgusting, it’s _familiar_.

“Yes,” Lio mumbles against the floor.

A strike to his back makes him yelp and his body jolt, but the hand keeps him in place. “Don’t lie to me, sweetie.” Nails scraping at his ass, kneading the flesh, then disappearing - and another strike, harder, and Lio cries out in pain. “If you were a good girl, you would eat what I brought you.” He grinds against Lio’s ass, low groans in the back of his throat. He’s getting off on this. Just like he had gotten off on the corpse, the _woman_ -

“I will eat. I will.” He grits his teeth when his backside is hit again and still can’t suppress the moan of pain.

“Oh _really_.” 

“I will. Please.” Everything is better than this. Being drugged until he doesn’t know what’s going on would be a mercy, how could he have been so _stupid_ and reject it, and now a woman is _dead_ because of him, again, and he’s seeing those dead eyes again, _shut up_ -

A yank on his hair pulling him up would make Lio tear up if he had anything to cry with. 

“Then eat.” A disgusting breath on his neck and for a fraction of a second Lio looks down at the space between the woman’s legs and begs, _no, no, I can’t do this, please_.

But gods are gracious to him today and the man only drops him into the glass and the sticky mess of the food he has made. 

“Thank you,” drops out of Lio’s throat. 

The man behind him stills. 

Lio freezes. No, he made a mistake, he made him angry, he slipped, no, he will make Lio do this, no, he can’t, Lio is _good_ , Lio will eat, Lio opens his mouth and licks the floor and ignores the prickle of glass scratching at his tongue.

A sudden weight crashes at his back and Lio’s knees give out. He cries at the weak flash of pain and feels the man press on him, wet and wanting between Lio’s legs, then up, grabbing at Lio’s ass and shoving himself between the cheeks. 

“You are so fucking _perfect._ ” Short snaps of hips, wet squelch. “So obedient and sweet. Finally honest. _Keep eating._ ” 

Lio lowers his head and laps once again at the bittersweet mess. It tastes like dust and the pancakes are dried up and yet all too soggy, disgusting and the best thing he has ever eaten as he swallows it. The water has vaporized long ago, he’s sure, but he could swear he can feel the aftertaste of it in between the china and glass dust.

“Yes, eat. Such a nice ass.” The man gasps against Lio’s neck, licks the skin and Lio feels him move as he swallows. “I can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy of yours.”

Maybe Lio will accidentally swallow a shard of glass big enough to kill him. Maybe it will tear him from the inside before the man has a chance to do what he wants. 

“But not too early.” Drag of his teeth on Lio’s shoulder, another squelch between his legs, small, sharp thrusts. “Oh, I want you to savour the moment when I decide to take you. You will beg for my cock, and I will gracefully give it to you.”

Lio’s stomach squeezes around the food, too much after all this time of chewing on nothing. He feels it rise in his stomach, push itself forward, muscles spasming.

“And you will take it, take it _all_ , drink all the cum up like a good girl, _fuck_ , milk my fat cock with your pussy-”

Lio throws up. Its sudden, slimy chunks almost choking him, and yet he can’t stop, not even try with the weight pressing on him, his face moving with every thrust into the acid and grime.

Maybe she threw up, too. Lio can feel her looking at him, even without the eyes, and he can’t tell anymore if he feels anything or is it someone else’s body on the basement floor with their face covered in vomit, if it’s him or the woman getting violated and slapped and bitten into. 

“ _Fuck_ , Fotia, you are such a good slut, so hungry for my cum, yes, yes-”

The man doesn’t really mind the vomit, it seems. Then again, he doesn’t seem to mind Lio’s mangled body or the corpse next to him or how the world turns hazy and harsh, too much and too little all at once.

The man stops moving and just lays on him, panting and dragging his tongue over the back of Lio’s neck. 

The acid on Lio’s tongue is unbearable. And yet, he doesn’t try to get away. He can’t. It’s better if he can’t. 

The man picks him up with ease and it almost doesn’t hurt. He lays Lio down on the mattress, face down, and Lio is prepared for the weight to crush him again.

It’s expected. It’s familiar. It’s what he deserves, a punishment for making all those people suffer when he could have been good and just taken it without a word. 

There’s something wet and cold on his ass. A sponge, maybe. He doesn’t twist his head to look.

The man cleans him up with long, careful strokes, first the fresh come, then slowly flips Lio over and dabs at his face, at the vomit and whatever was left from the last time he let it out there.

Lio doesn’t watch him. His eyes see the smudge of color over him. Maybe that’s what the man is: just a color, a shapeless monster Lio needs to accept as the part of reality now. Nighttime fear that has taken form and now taunts him for all the mistakes Lio has made, all the people he has not been able to save.

“You are sick,” the voice from the shapeless form says. “But don’t worry. I got you.” The sponge is scraping at Lio’s skin, too harsh, and yet Lio would rather it cut deeper, into his skin and make him bleed. It should hurt. It should not be careful and gentle, not with this shade of worry, like Lio deserves for someone to be concerned about him.

“I will bring you more food,” the voice continues. “More to drink. Recovery will be hard, but you can manage it. You should live and prove that even the Burnish can be rehabilitated. Convince me that they don’t need to be punished.”

Words don’t make sense anymore. There’s only sound reverberating inside Lio’s skull and in his bones through all too thin skin.

“Tell me, Lio. Are you a good girl?”

“I am a good girl.” They are just sounds, but they still feel heavy on his tongue, choking him more than the decaying food did. 

The man is staring at him. Lio knows that even if he can’t make his eyes focus anymore.

“No, you aren’t.” Slow, slow strokes burning Lio’s skin. “But you will be.”

* * *

Gueira doesn’t hit him this time, but only because Meis shoots him a disapproving look when he raises his hand. “Where the fuck have you been?!”

Galo is tired. “You told me to go see Kray.”

“That was in the morning.” Gueira fumes and Galo half-expects him to burst into flames, even with Promare gone. “We called you, what, twenty times?”

“Twenty-eight.” Meis glares at Galo with the same cold stare as always. He’s boiling under all this ice, Galo is sure - they wouldn’t have bothered to come all this way if that was the case. They generally do not like Burning Rescue on principle, and to think they went to the station just to look for him...

He hasn’t checked his phone ever since he saw that photo. And he doubts he would feel the vibrations with his body all numb and cold.

“Sorry,” Galo says. 

“I don’t care if you are sorry!” Gueira bares his teeth and snarls, but he doesn’t try to hit him again. “Just, don’t disappear like that, okay? We thought something happened.”

Something _did_ happen, but Galo can’t bring himself to tell them. That Lio… Lio would not want his generals to see him like this. Wouldn’t want Galo to see him. The only thing Galo can do is protect at least his dignity now. 

Meis glares at him still, that analysing look as always, but if he sees something on Galo’s face he doesn’t say it. “Let’s go to the kitchen first.”

“I ate,” Galo says machinally. 

“Sure.” Meis’s eyes are cold. “Kitchen.”

Galo doesn’t argue.

There are some half-decent leftovers in their shared fridge in the station. Galo makes a mental note to apologize to Aina and pops them into the microwave. 

“You ate already?” Galo asks, just to not stare at the food in silence.

“Lunch, dinner _and_ dessert.” Gueira sits heavily at the lone plastic chair in the corner.

Meis sighs. “Not dessert, but you get what he means.” 

The timer pings and Galo takes out the lukewarm mac and cheese. He stares at Meis and Gueira with a question in his eyes, but they pay him no mind, so he pops the least dirty looking fork from the sink in the food and takes a bite. It’s all too salty, as everything Aina makes, but he swallows it still. His stomach doesn’t like it, but at least it causes less of a revolt than the coffee.

“So.” Meis tilts his head, propped on a wall as he looks at Galo. “What happened?”

Galo makes the mistake of chewing the pasta and the taste of something that definitely shouldn’t be in a mac and cheese fills his mouth. He gulps, but the taste still lingers.

“You want to talk here?”

Meis shrugs. “Good a place as any.”

“Don’t you want to sit, or…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Gueira all but jumps from the chair and strides over and Galo is sure this time he’s going to get hit. But Gueira only comes close and stares daggers at him again before stabbing a finger against Galo’s chest. “You talk too much. Just eat it, alright? Then talk.” A small shove. “And wipe your face. Boss would yell at you if he saw you like that. And after you are done, _talk._ ”

Galo shoves another bite of the cheesy abomination into his mouth. Gueira nods with approval and joins Meis by the wall. 

“Come on, baby. You’ve been running around all day. Let’s all sit down, yeah?”

Meis doesn’t look convinced. He just sighs again and lets Gueira take his hand and sits down where Gueira has been a minute ago.

“Want something to drink?”

Meis does something vaguely resembling a shrug, but Gueira is already running to the coffee maker. He presses all the buttons at once and unsurprisingly, it makes a weird beep and refuses to work. He groans at it, but the machine doesn’t seem to be intimidated by that. Galo knows it doesn’t work like it. He has tried before.

Galo pushes the right buttons without thinking about it and finally the machine decides to comply and spews some dark liquid that could be called coffee by someone who has never seen one, but it looks like it satisfies Gueira enough to grab someone’s abandoned cup and put it under the dispenser. 

It fills all too slowly.

“Have you ever been told how the Boss joined us?” Meis says suddenly. 

Galo shakes his head and puts the mostly empty container down. “Lio never talked about it.”

“We went on a raid. It went okay, at least for that time, but Freeze Force followed us to the settlement. We thought the distraction would buy enough time for the most vulnerable Burnish to flee. We were wrong.” Meis winces. “They somehow saw us coming and prepared an ambush. Tested out some new tech. We all were sure we were finally done for.”

Galo shifts his weight on his feet. “And then he saved the day?”

Meis smirks. “He sure did. But before that - well. He shot one of Gueira’s flames down.”

“Like it was nothing.” Gueira grabs the coffee when the machine finally quiets down and brings it to Meis. It looks awful, but Meis doesn’t flinch as he takes a sip. 

“Fighting fire with fire. We were sure it was impossible.” 

“Sure seemed like it.” Galo has been in Burning Rescue for such a long time now. He had enough chances to test out new equipment on the fire, but they have never come close to something like this. The Foundation must have been researching, updating - testing it on the captured Burnish. 

And Galo has always been so happy to get new tech to try he never stopped to think about it.

“Then he shows up and just does it, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.” Gueira shakes his head. 

“And that’s why you made him the boss, right? Because he’s the strongest.”

“No,” Meis says. “He became the boss because the first thing he said to us was ‘don’t kill them.’ Even though he could so easily kill all those bastards, he didn’t. Because for him it is wrong to hurt anyone. He’s just that kind of person.”

 _We Burnish do not kill_ , Galo hears Lio whisper in the back of his mind. 

It had been such a weird thing then. The big boss looked at him with annoyance, anger - and sadness. Like he was pitying him. Like Galo was the one to be felt for, same as the Burnish that were huddled there near the fireplace with big, hungry eyes with the flames dancing on their faces.

“Have you really never wondered why he hates Foresight so much? Why would he go that far?”

Galo shrugs. “Well, that whole ‘destroying the world’ thing looks like a reason enough.”

“He has hated him before that even came up.” Meis grabs the cup with both his hands. Ex-Burnish are always cold, Galo thinks. Lio does the same. “We all did, of course. But for someone like him it must have been different. I don’t think boss can hate anyone, not really.”

“Why are you telling me this?” It slips off Galo’s tongue. Maybe he is too tired again, but he doesn’t understand. Meis’s train of thought is scattered all over the place, and Galo can’t connect the dots even when he sees them laid in front of him. 

Meis’s eyes are unfocused again. “Trying to understand. What would he do? What _did_ he do?”

Gueira’s hand is on Meis’s shoulder again, as if he wanted to hang on to him. 

“We were talking about it before you showed up,” he says. “It’s been too long. All this is too muddled up. Boss is powerful, yes, but his fire is not his only weapon. He is strong.”

“It doesn’t add up,” Meis mumbles. “Why all those killings _after_? If the point was to just restrain the boss, he would have found a way out, he always does, so why…”

Galo’s head hurts. “There’s no way to know.”

“There _is_ a way,” Meis hisses, mouth suddenly twisting, “I just need to focus more and _think_ -”

“You’ve been thinking the whole day.” Gueira’s voice dips into something Galo has never heard, soft and deep. “You need to rest for now.”

“I need more information.” Meis raises his head suddenly and stares at Galo, his brows drawn together. “Tell me what Kray said.”

Galo licks his lips, suddenly too dry. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?” Meis snorts. “You _talked_ with him. Tell us what he said.” He tilts his head, teeth bared. “Or did you say something you don’t want us to know? Begged for the great Governor to let you lick his boots again?”

A flash of heat surges through Galo. Kray with that mask of a smile on his face. The photo. The woman with her hands on him, with the same damn smirk of someone who knows what’s going on, all of them parading in front of him and refusing to tell him anything. And now Meis too. And Gueira - Gueira just _stands_ there, not even looking at Galo, but Galo knows just how much he too despises him, not even trying to stop Meis from throwing all those things at Galo. Like it’s Galo’s fault, like he wasn’t running around the whole day too, banging his head on the wall and begging for something, anything that would help Lio-

It swirls, festers inside him, spreads like boiling poison in his veins, makes him lightheaded.

 _We Burnish do not kill_. 

Maybe so, Galo thinks back. But killing is not the most cruel thing you can do.

The anger makes his face flush, overwhelming, but Galo forces his body not to rush forward and smash Meis’s face into pieces. Lio wouldn’t want that. It won’t help Lio. 

But those people won’t help Lio either. 

“Fuck you,” Galo says. 

Then he turns on his heel and ignores Gueira’s voice calling after him as he walks, then runs out the station. 

He is almost by his bike when he notices a phone booth. It’s old and battered and has no right to work in the state it is in now, and Galo lets his feet lead him to it. He takes some loose change from his pockets and puts it in. 

There shouldn’t be any reception, but Galo clicks the number in anyway. There’s not a sound on the other side of the line. Of course. It’s stupid of him to think that this might work, anything might work-

“Hello, Main Federal Prison of Promepolis, how can I help you?”

It’s a sign. It has to be. Galo needs to act, even if everyone refuses to. Damn the consequences. 

Nothing matters if Lio isn’t here.

“Galo Thymos speaking.” His voice jumps off the dirty walls plastered with leaflets and dirtied with obscenities in spray paint and hits his ears back. “Please tell Governor Foresight that I agree.”

* * *

The world changes after that. Lio isn’t sure if it’s the fault of whatever is in the food or his mind finally giving up. But then again it doesn’t make much of a difference, does it? He’s still here. And no one is coming for him.

Lio doesn’t want anyone to come. It might just ruin everything he has sacrificed already.

The man brings a cup to his lips and Lio drinks. He feeds him small bites of a tasteless mush and Lio swallows. He tells Lio he is a beautiful girl and Lio tries to believe that.

The corpse still lays over there on the floor, a greyish blob of color Lio doesn’t look at. He can smell it, though - just a tinge of something sweet and acidic in the air. That’s the downside to his body finally resuming its functions. He breathes through his mouth and still tastes the air, as if he were licking the decaying skin.

Lio asks the man why he won't move it.

“It’s too much of a hassle, sweetheart,” he says in a soft voice. “And it’s good for you to have some company.”

Lio doesn’t consider the grey thing a company, but he doesn’t say a thing. It would upset the man, and Lio doesn’t want him to get upset. The details are hazy, but he knows it is important, and so he just nods with faked understanding. 

The man seems pleased with that. 

Lio’s chest is heavy and sore, more so than he remembers it ever being. It feels wrong, but the man praises him and even if he tugs at the ripping skin it isn’t all that bad. 

“Look, they’re growing so nicely.” Big hand on his chest, prodding, hungry, overwhelming. “Almost fills up my hand.”

Lio feels him squeeze and a sound rises from his throat, involuntarily but not unwelcome.

“You like it?” Closer, closing on him, wet mouth and hard body laying on him.

“Yes,” Lio says. He doesn’t know if he’s lying. He must be, with how disgusting it is for his body to twist and grow like a tumor to morph into whatever form there is, but his dick fills anyway, too sensitive, too delicate, feeling everything and not enough. 

A sharp pinch of his nipple makes his back arch and cry out. A small laugh. 

“Impatient, aren’t you.” The man tugs on his skin just so slightly, but enough for Lio’s body to rip again. It has grown, one way or another, but not enough, never enough for the man. “But we need to wait, baby doll. You are not ready yet.”

Lio doesn’t know what he should be ready for. There are not many things he knows anymore.

A hand disappears from his chest. “Show me your pussy, baby girl.”

Lio spreads his legs and holds them up as he was told to. The plug inside him is all too wide and long. It hurts at the edges, but he doesn’t remember how it got there. It must have happened before, just after a meal. After a meal he is most honest, the man said. Lio doesn’t remember.

The figure moves down on his body, but doesn’t grab his legs up. Lio got it right this time. 

“Look at you,” the voice says. “You are all stretched open for me.” A hand fumbles around and Lio cries out as the man tugs at the plug. A slow movement, enough for Lio to feel how thick it is in the middle, pulling at his insides and ripping him apart. “Can you feel it, Lio?”

“Yes,” Lio says. He is Lio. He has to be. 

“It’s still a bit too small. But don’t worry. You will get used to it in time. You will be such a pretty wife.” One more tug, the stretch tearing his muscles, and then a push, just as slow, just as unpleasant. 

Lio whines.

“Shh, baby girl.” A touch on his stomach, and lower, to his penis, harsh fingers rubbing at him. His body is burning, touch-starved, and even this is too much. He doesn’t know if he wants to move away or into the hand, or if he can feel anything but that overwhelming _need_ anymore, he doesn’t know what his body tries to tell him, doesn’t know why everything is so bright or where he is or whose hand is on him.

He can’t breathe. He needs to run. He _has_ to escape from here, somehow, somewhere where it isn’t so bright and where someone with big hands and nice smile can speak to him again, _Galo-_

Weight on him again, skin on skin, pressing him down and grabbing at his arms he can’t feel flailing around. 

“Calm down, sweetie. We’re just having fun. I can see you like it.”

Lio’s hands die next to him and the man lets go. He searches around for something before he moves again against Lio’s stomach and his dick, and Lio needs it more than he needs to breathe, he needs someone to touch him, make it stop, needs more than the light shifts of skin on him-

And the man moves away, leaves Lio there and shoves him down when Lio tries to reach him. 

“Tell me, baby girl. What do you want?” 

Lio can’t focus enough to see what he’s holding. He doesn’t care. “Please.”

A laugh. “You need to be more specific than that.”

What does he want? What? Where is he? “I can’t- _Stop_ -”

He whines again as the man’s hand reaches him, touches his thigh and hoists it up. “You’re so wet already. You want to stop?”

Does he? _Does he?_ He can’t remember. What does the man want? 

Lio rolls his hips into the air, chasing something, anything that could take that disgusting feeling from inside of him. Another laugh. 

“Words, baby girl.”

Words. Words. He knows the words. “Fuck me.”

A hand tightens just so slightly on his thigh. “Not yet, sweetie. But soon enough.” His legs are brought together with a slap of skin, and there’s something warm and wet between them now. Lio doesn’t care. He doesn’t, until something slides over his erection and he grinds into it, back and forth, more, more, he needs more.

“Fuck. Even your legs are amazing.” Lio whines at the sharp thrust. Then another, and another, all of them sending sweet sparks down his spine, something he didn’t know he has to want until now. “It’s not just your tits, Lio. I will make you fully a woman. My woman. I will, _fuck_ , just like this, I will impregnate you, hold cum in your cunt until you do, you-”

The man speaks, but Lio doesn’t listen. The voice slides through him, reverberates under his ribcage with every thrust, every move, every breath on his skin, sticks to the inside of his ears and leaves a grime of wet exhales as the man moves on him, quick and impatient.

Lio doesn’t care, but he comes with a shout anyway, his body contracting, swirling, being undone under the hands of someone he doesn’t know. 

It starts to hurt when the man doesn’t stop, but Lio knows better than to complain. He rolls his hips in rhythm, just like he’s supposed to, and it isn’t long until the man grunts and spills on Lio’s stomach, hot come burning where it lands. 

The man collapses next to Lio on the mattress, panting on Lio’s face, and then pushes Lio to his chest. It’s uncomfortable and the man’s breath stinks, but he’s warm. Nothing in here is warm except for the man. 

The man threads his fingers through Lio’s hair. It doesn’t hurt, but his fingers get caught in the tangles, and Lio’s head flops around, straining his neck.

“We should get it properly combed,” the man says. “You should grow it out. You will look even prettier with long hair.”

It feels wrong, somehow, the same way the skin on his chest feels wrong when it’s pressed to the man’s. Something in the back of his mind shivers in disgust at that, but it’s small and weak and hidden under layers and layers of fog, and Lio can’t be sure if it’s there at all.

What is real is the man with his hands once again on Lio’s back, pulling him closer until he can’t breathe.

But the man is still warm. 

“I know you are a little confused.” Hands on him, ripping him apart, teasing the flames at the edge of Lio’s consciousness again. “But I’m doing it all for you, you know? You shouldn’t be wasted on that scum. You can be normal, Lio. Cured.”

It makes his skin crawl. He tries to breathe, but his chest doesn’t move. He can’t cry, can’t move, only try to pierce through the muddy mush of his brain to piece the world in front of him together.

“Thymos doesn’t matter. He’s too weak. And you know what, Lio? He isn’t even _looking_. He will never come for you. They all left you. All you have is me. So be grateful.”

Lio’s lungs burn. Thymos. He knows it. _Galo_. 

_Galo is not looking_. 

It’s cold here. It stinks of rotting flesh and blood and piss and semen, and he hates it here. He hates it almost as much as he hates ice and red metal on his skin. Galo could help him. Could get him out. 

But he didn’t, and the thought makes Lio’s chest hurt more than the lack of oxygen in his lungs. 

The man’s hand is warm on his skin as he presses his lips to Lio’s temple.

“I will take care of you, baby girl. I promise.”

Lio believes him.


	5. Chapter 5

Galo is halfway to his home when he remembers it had burned down.

Great. He has nowhere to go now. He could go back to the station, but either Meis and Gueira are still there or they complained to everyone there about Galo. He doesn’t want to deal with either. Stopping in some fast food place is also an option, but then there would be people there staring, again, and he would snap sooner or later. 

Well, at least it’s probably going to be a warm night. Maybe. Galo doesn’t know.

He stops his bike at the intersection and waits for the lights to turn. The food inside him moves in a way it definitely shouldn’t and he stops himself from gagging only because he doesn’t want to give everyone around a reason to look at him. Fuck. He can’t function like this. If only those idiots wouldn’t force feed him that damned abomination of Aina’s-

Aina. Was she at the station? Galo hadn’t seen her there. Maybe she’s at home.

Maybe she would let Galo crash at hers for the time being. It’s not like Galo has anything to lose now. 

Someone’s horn yells at him and Galo shakes his head and makes the bike go again. He’s not going to be able to be a responsible driver at this rate, but he can’t just abandon the bike, either. He chooses the longer way round, through the alleys he hopes no one would use at this hour, or at least no one who would be mad at Galo for driving at the smallest speed possible. 

Galo has been to Aina’s place a few times, mostly because hers is the only place that seems to have enough space for all of the Burning Rescue members to more or less comfortably get together for whatever reason. The station is nice, of course, but it doesn’t have the same feeling as a nice couch with those god awful pink pillows Aina keeps around because of how soft they are. Also she has never had any problems with plumbing there, which is a rarity. Galo doubts any of their salaries are high enough to get a flat in such a place, but Heris insisted for her and Aina to get a flat in the rather poshy side of the town.

It’s close to where the Parnassus had been, Galo notices as he parks his bike. Well, technically still is, but it’s only a matter of time before volunteers scrap what is left of it. No one really wants to do that - god knows what could be hiding somewhere in the depths of something Kray came up with - but it will happen eventually. They will use it to rebuild all what has been wrecked during the fight, build new homes for ex-Burnish so they don’t have to live in the cheapest flats and at the outskirts. 

Something twists in his stomach. Galo pushes it down. He won’t think about it. He can’t. 

Kray will be held accountable, with or without Galo’s testimony. And Lio will be home by then. 

He rings the doorbell and waits. Then rings again. When his hand slams the bell for the third time, finally he hears the click of the lock.

“Aina, I know it’s late, but-”

A pair of eyes hidden behind the glasses stare at him. 

“Oh,” Galo says. “You’re not Aina.”

“I’m afraid so,” Heris says. She keeps the door barely ajar, enough to look at Galo disappointingly but not so as to let him in. “Would you please state your purpose?”

A bad sign. He doesn’t know Heris all that much. All he knows is what Aina told him, namely that she’s cool, intelligent and hates paprika. Which doesn’t help all that much.

Probably better to just be honest. “I don’t have anywhere to go.” 

“Because your apartment was burned.”

“Mhm.” Aina must have told her. Or maybe she watches the news, now that she was not really fired but definitely without a job with her superior in jail. _An arrest,_ Galo corrects himself.

“And why can’t you spend the night at the station?” Her eyes are unreadable, thick glass drowning whatever Galo could have a hope of seeing. The same empty expression as when he talked to her in a cell, and yet completely different. 

Galo shrugs. “I don’t want to go there right now.” 

She looks at him, unmoved. “You don’t want to.”

He tries to crack a smile. “Please?”

Heris stays ice-cold with an iron expression and Galo is prepared to politely laugh and walk away to save what’s left of his dignity when she opens the door and steps back. He blinks, and his body moves on its own, stepping in before Heris has a chance to change her mind. 

The door clicks closed behind him. Some crazy high-tech security thing, probably. Heris can definitely afford it.

Heris does a small gesture with her arms that tell Galo exactly nothing. She clears her throat.

“Do you want some tea or coffee or…”

“Thanks, but no,” Galo replies, taking his shoes off. Better not to push his luck. 

The shoe stand is full of different kinds of high heels and sneakers, so he puts his boots against the wall. Heris does the same thing with her hands. 

“The sofa is free,” she says. 

“Thanks.” She walks to the living room and he follows her. It’s as neat and aesthetically pleasing as he remembers, modern and high tech and what not. “Where’s Aina?”

“Sleeping. She had a long shift. And so, I would appreciate it if you did not make much noise.” 

“Sure.” That explains why she wasn't at the station. They are probably overworked, coordinating rebuilding efforts and usual fire stuff without Galo and the additional help of Gueira and Meis. Lio was the one to encourage ex-Burnish to help, and they listened to him. Without him, everything falls apart.

Soon. Soon, everything will be back to normal. 

"You sure you don't want anything?" Heris asks. She shifts on her feet. Is she nervous? 

Well, it's better than just staring at each other in that awkward silence. "On second thought, yes, please."

She all but leaps to the kitchen counter. Her hands aren't shaking, but their movement is ragged, strained. 

Galo decides he can probably sit on the couch now. It's soft and he wants nothing more than to slump to the side and pass out, but that would probably be rude and he's still not sure that Heris wouldn't throw him out as soon as he slips once. There's still… well, not animosity between them, but Galo can't exactly forget what she did. How ready she was to submit to Kray if only Aina was safe.

 _Aren't you the same though,_ a voice whispers in his mind. _If he promised Lio's safety, what would you do? What_ did _you do?_

"Here you go." Boiling water sloshes dangerously in the cup she thrusted into his hand. 

"I think you forgot the tea." She stared at him blankly and he immediately regrets it. "Uh, sorry."

"Don't be, it's my fault." She grabs a tea bag from one of the cans on the table and puts it in. Immediately the water swirls with the dark brown.

Galo doesn’t really like black tea, but at this point it would be just petty. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she replies immediately. She doesn’t move to sit when Galo tastes the tea, just stands there, looking at him, and Galo tries his best not to be uncomfortable. It doesn’t exactly work.

“Uh,” Galo says. There has to be at least one thing they can talk about. “So. What are you up to now?”

She shrugs. “Looking for a job, mostly.”

“Good.” He takes another sip. “Anything in particular? Something we could help with?”

“No.”

Well, she definitely isn’t helping him to push the conversation along. He scans his mind looking for anything he can safely say when she speaks again.

“Anything new about Mr. Fotia?”

Galo almost drops the cup. She knows. Of course. There’s hardly anyone in Promepolis who _doesn’t_ know. 

He shakes his head, muscles straining. “No.”

“No?” Heris looks surprised. “After all this time, nothing?”

Galo knows she doesn’t mean any harm by that, but it still cuts deep. “Nothing that can help, for sure.” He hopes his voice doesn’t come off as offended as he thinks it does. 

“That’s a pity.”

He suppresses a laugh. It is. But that’s exactly why he had to do what he did.

“You will find him,” Heris says. “I know you will.”

That’s weird. She barely knows Galo, and she doesn’t know Lio at all. “How can you be so sure.”

She shifts her weight again. “A… feeling, I suppose.”

 _She knows._

It wouldn’t be unthinkable: Heris has worked with Kray for so long. What’s to say that she doesn’t have some loyalty left for him now? That she still doesn't work for him? _That she doesn’t know where Lio is?_

It’s stupid, he knows it is. It’s Heris, Aina’s sister; the thought of her working behind the scenes for Kray is unbelievably idiotic.

But it’s also Heris, the lead scientist of the Parnassus Project, who beamed with joy when the engine worked even though the Burnish inside the engine screamed in pain as his body was torn apart and burned to ash.

 _But aren't you the same?_ , something asks. 

So many people have pointed that out already. Meis, Gueira, Lio, even Kray himself - all of them see how Galo used to be all starry-eyed, hungry for Kray's validation and attention, refusing to see anything that was contrary to what Kray told him was happening.

But it was long ago. It was back then, before he had met Lio, before he had seen what was really happening behind the scenes of the Foundation.

_You're lying._

Lio's face full of pity and annoyance. Because of Galo. Because of the lie that Galo chose to ignore even when he could clearly see that the reality Kray tried to present is false. Because Galo fit so easily with it all, with the role he had been given, and had not even once questioned it. 

Burnish never fit in the picture of the ideal world of Kray's. And Galo can't imagine that ex-Burnish would fit either. Galo hasn't told anyone about Kray being Burnish so far, and Lio probably didn't either. Not like it matters anymore, not with no way to confirm it.

Kray could just walk back on stage and take back where he left off. And Galo let him.

"Galo?"

Heris looks at him with concern in her eyes. Galo shakes his head and fakes a smile.

"Sorry. Just spacing out a bit."

"Maybe you really should rest."

He sighs. "Maybe I should."

"You can open the couch. We have some blankets and extra pillows, if you need any."

"Thanks." She doesn't seem like she doubts him, but she's still watching him. Not that he can blame her. He's probably acting odd, all things considered.

Maybe he should be acting odd. Maybe she should ask what happened, and then he would have the chance to break and tell her everything, about the photos and the woman in the cafe and the phone call he did.

But she doesn't. "Okay, then. If you need anything, just tell me. I'll be in our room."

"Alright," Galo says. She gives him a nod as she disappears into the bedroom and delicately closes the door behind herself. 

Galo puts the all too hot cup on the table and grabs some blankets from inside the sofa. They're nice and fluffy, like everything here, and smell fresh like they've just been taken out of the drier. The ones at home never smelled like this. Well, not before Lio moved in and started complaining about Galo's hygiene issues.

Lio will be home soon. They will get a new flat, buy new furniture, get a bed that doesn't creak, and maybe it'll be small and cramped and they will fight again about who does the dishes, but they will both be there. And that will be enough.

Galo is about to let his head hit the pillows when his phone vibrates.

His stomach jumps. No, he reminds himself. It won't happen again. It's not the kidnapper. Not another photo. It's just someone sending a text, maybe Ignis complaining about Galo not taking any shifts.

His hands still shake as he reaches out for the phone.

A text message from the number he doesn't remember. His stomach turns. He considers deleting it, just to be safe, but another part of his mind needs to know. If he deleted it, he would definitely not sleep tonight, agonizing over new possibilities of what could be done to Lio.

He needs to face it head-on, again. For Lio.

Galo holds his breath as he taps the notification.

It's just a text, thank god. Unsigned and short, and Galo stares at the numbers and words and tries to figure out what it can possibly mean when it suddenly clicks.

He knows it. It's an address.

Kray has heard him.

Galo knocks the cup of tea down as he scrambles through the kitchen to the door.

It doesn't matter. Heris doesn't matter. Meis and Gueira don't. 

Lio. He can get Lio. 

And then, everything will be alright.

"Galo?"

Heris stares at him as he pushes on his boots.

"Thanks," Galo says, and he himself doesn't know what he's thanking her for.

Heris doesn't stop him as he runs outside to his bike and kicks off.

* * *

"You are so beautiful."

Slow kisses, long and wet and warm. Lio melts into them. They are nice. They are reassuring. They are there, and they make him less cold than what he has felt in a long time.

Wet warmth leaves his mouth and travels lower, nibbles at his neck and the junction of a shoulder, and Lio gasps into the air, back arching. And lower, lower.

"Even here, with all those strech marks," the voice whispers against Lio's chest. "So soft and big already. I'm proud of you."

Tongue circling the hard nipple and rippling skin. It hurts, still, too sensitive and delicate, but he's learning to enjoy it. The man says so, so it must be true. It's definitely better than other things, like being pushed open, or shoved, or choked. 

Tongue flattens against the bud of his nipple and Lio gasps again. He doesn't feel like he's moving, and yet suddenly his hand is in someone's hair, pushing closer, harder. 

It feels good. This is good. 

"So needy." His breath blows at Lio's skin covered in saliva, and Lio shudders at the cold. But it at least soothes the sharp folds of his skin yelling in protest at being pushed apart, so that's enough, at least. Lio settles for enough. 

The man never does. His hands travel down, past Lio's bellybutton and hovers at his hips. A soft sound as the man lets go of Lio's nipple and slips lower, mouthing at Lio's pelvic bone, just out of reach of what Lio needs, what he wants. 

Lio whines as the man moves and instead of putting his mouth down the trail of hair moves to Lio's thigh, teeth dragging across the soft flesh. 

"And here, too. You're gaining weight again. Such a beautiful fat ass and thick thighs. Sign of a really healthy woman, ready for breeding."

It feels wrong, the words, but they are also right. They must be. The man has said them over and over again, and Lio listens, even if he doesn't know why he feels the need to. 

Tongue trailing its path, sluggish and heavy like a snail thick with grime oozing on Lio's thighs, seeping under his skin. It's good. It's okay. It doesn't hurt.

It doesn't, until it does.

"Even here," the man says, and the wetness catches on something and Lio yells at the sharp whiteness of pain piercing his calf. He tries to move, to get away, but his legs won't listen to him, won't move like he wants them too, and the pain continues, wave after wave.

"It's so cute." A swirl of a tongue, another surge of white agony. "Someone would see it as an imperfection, but I like it. A reminder of our first meeting, remember? Well, second meeting. But the first time you looked at me with those defiant pretty eyes I wanted to claw out." Flesh, flesh rippling, burning, squirming, and the voice over it, voice that keeps Lio anchored to the world of pain. "I'm glad I didn't. Now look at you."

He shivers. He cries. There's so many sensations going on at once, overwhelming the little he has left of his awareness, and he can't kick, can't react, can't focus enough to try to direct his consciousness anywhere else. 

Lio shivers and he can't stop the wetness from spreading between his legs. 

Shame, shame, shame pouring out of him, disgusting, sticky feeling crawling in his brain. 

The man stops and Lio knows there will be more pain, more humiliation, _slut, stupid slut, spread your legs, no, please-_

A giggle is not much of a relief. “Oh, sweetie. You wet yourself? Poor thing. I suppose this dose was a bit too much.” The man traces a finger on Lio's burning skin. It's too much, too sticky and repulsive, as all of Lio is now. “But it will be over soon. We need to move, baby girl. To somewhere you can be comfortable and pretty for me and where I can take care of you properly when I finally knock you up.” 

The words mix and swirl. Move? To where? There's no world except the pain and the stench of this place and the man over him. And... It seems wrong. Something in those words doesn't add up, somehow, but Lio can't put a finger on it. He tries to ask and his throat collapses; he opens his mouth and nothing comes out, nothing that could be words, only a string of syllables that feel jumbled even to him. 

"You're beautiful," the man says again. His mouth is back on the bare flesh, teeth scraping at bone, and Lio doesn't cry, only gasps and moans when a hand returns to his chest, tugs at it again as the man's face moves lower, past the calf, past the last place Lio can feel anything anymore.

The man kisses his broken feet, the black mess of charred tendons and flesh, swirls his tongue, and Lio sees how it sticks to the blackness and how some part of Lio goes with it, into the man's mouth.

"You won't walk, but it's okay. You just need to lay and take me when I need you." A sharp tug and Lio's body jerks again, not sure if he wants to lean into the touch or away from it. Burning, burning, always burning. 

And you will beg me for my cock, it echoes. Who said it? When? Where?

It doesn't matter. Lio has not lost. Giving up mid-race is not losing.

Lio has not lost. 

"Beautiful." The man smiles as he edges closer, pushes his hands where Lio begs him to.

Lio lets him.

* * *

This time, there's no one to hit him. Meis and Gueira are god knows where, and that's good. Galo can't look at them at the moment.

Galo can almost feel the stare on his back as Ignis watches him from behind his shades. That makes Galo feel even worse.

Ignis straightens his back at his chair and sighs. "You didn't know, Galo."

The thing is, Galo did know. Of course he did. Because it's almost laughably predictable. Meis had told him about the possibility, and of course Kray isn't above actually doing that, just as Meis said he would.

But Galo once again decided to ignore everything and fuck things up.

"At least he confessed to those three murders," Ignis says. His voice is soft, softer than usual. "We can bring justice to those people."

Justice. Justice is what Lio keeps talking about. Justice is Lio being free, justice is Galo calling the burning rescue on his bike and crashing into a place at the outskirts of Promepolis and finding the bastard holding Lio captive, and then the kisses, hugs, words of reassurance.

There is no justice here. Only disappointment.

Because Kray promised nothing, and thus he delivered nothing, even when Galo did everything for him. And Galo fell for it again.

"Galo." The same soft tone that makes Galo's skin crawl. "He's going to slip sooner or later, and then we _will_ find Fotia-"

"You don't know that." The words taste bitter on his tongue. He hates them, but he hates himself more for saying them and feeling like they’re true. 

Ignis keeps staring at him. Why isn't he saying anything? Isn't he supposed to comfort Galo, or at least fucking try? 

"Galo. How did you know the location?"

And there it is. Ignis doesn't care about him, only the fucking information, the very one that may as well fuck up everything-

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"Galo-" 

"Stop using that tone. Sir." He adds the last part through gritted teeth.

He knows that it's not Ignis's fault, that he shouldn't be angry at him. Of course he shouldn't. But he is, because that's better than being angry at himself. Not that Galo could hate himself any more than he already does now.

Ignis's face is stern and unreadable. That too makes Galo's stomach churn and blood boil.

It would be so easy to throw something at Ignis. To grab a damn cup on his desk and watch it shatter and spill tea everywhere, to toss the papers on the floor and ruin them with his boots, kick the water dispenser and crack the plastic. It would be easy.

But that wouldn't help, would it? Not anymore, at least.

Some part of Galo still wants to do it, though, squirms in the back of his mind and worms its way with the hot blood flooding his head.

Galo stands up. "I need to go."

Ignis stares at him, and this time something twitches in his expression. Galo doesn't stop to see what as he turns around and walks to the exit.

His hand is on the knob when the door slams against the wall with a force that would crush Galo's hand if his reflexes didn't tell him to jump away.

"Kray is out." Aina's eyes are wide, hair sticking in all directions. She must have been sleeping in the lounge again. She had been sleeping, so there's no way he knows.

"What?" Ignis asks from miles away.

"I don't know!" Her voice rises, her body tense. "They just said it! We don't know what's going on, but you two need to go and settle it before-"

Galo pushes her to the side and steps away from Ignis's office.

It doesn't feel real. It can't be real. Kray can't be out. Kray isn't out. It is all an misunderstanding, another ploy of smoke and mirrors, and-

"You." 

Galo doesn't stop, still walking to the exit. There's no way to go, yet again, but anywhere is better than there, especially with those two barging into the station.

Gueira steps in front of him. Galo tries to go around, but Gueira is quick, and most of all not as sleep-deprived as Galo is.

Galo looks at Gueira's face and for the first time wants to hurt him.

"What did you do?" Meis steps next to Gueira, eyes fixed on Galo with the same suspicion as earlier. As if Galo is the bad one. As if Galo isn't the one who tries to do anything. 

"Kray wouldn't be able to get released from the arrest if he didn't have help. You are the only person who talked to him. What did you do?"

"None of your business." He tries again, this time with more force, but Gueira only snarls and holds his ground. For fuck's sake. Of course they will make a scene in the middle of the station, with Lucia and Varys and Aina able to hear what Meis and Gueira are throwing his way. 

"So you did _help_ him?!" Meis’s voice raises into a yell; something flashes in his eyes, anger or betrayal or some other bullshit Galo has no interest in seeing.

Galo just wants to go home. 

He shoves Gueira, and this time even though Gueira braces himself it’s hard enough to send him flying to the floor. 

"What the fuck!" Now Meis is pushing at him, a weak shove that does nothing to make Galo move. Or maybe Meis is really trying, but he's too powerless now that the Promare are gone. 

Gueira looks at Galo with fire in his eyes. He scrambles to his feet, all too quick, and lunges at Galo.

Galo doesn't evade the hit that lands on his stomach. 

"You don't care about the Boss, do you?!" Gueira yells. "The second he's gone you run to your daddy, you always do, you traitor-"

"FUCK OFF!" Galo rams into Gueira, but there's another pair of hands on his neck, pulling him back, and he can't keep his balance or evade another punch. He tastes blood, and suddenly the rage from before comes back, because they know nothing, understand nothing, didn't see what Galo did-

"You fucking let him go! You're the only one who could have done it!"

"I said FUCK OFF!" He wavers on his feet, and instead of trying to stop it, he jumps back, allows himself to fall to the floor with Meis under him, fingers grasping at his hair, but he hadn't expected it, and that fraction of a second is enough for Galo to wrestle out of his grasp and stand up. 

He has fought them before. They were formidable foes when clad in their armor. But now, without the fire fueling them, they are all too weak, too scrawny and powerless.

Galo has always fought with his whole strength. 

He jumps at Gueira and tackles him to the floor. Hand twisting in his clothes, nails breaking skin, copper in his mouth; none of this matters, they don't matter, how dare they look at him with this hatred when Galo has been the only one who has done anything other than spouting nonsense and complaining.

"Galo! GALO!"

Hands on his arms, hard grasp he can't shake off. 

"Fuck off," he growls again.

"That's enough!" 

That voice shakes him out of his mind. It's not Meis's or Gueira's. It's not the woman in the cafe.

Aina looks like she's close to tears. "Please, stop. That's enough."

Her fingers dig so hard into his flesh that he will definitely have bruises tomorrow. 

And yet, that's nothing compared to Gueira. 

Galo stares at the red on his hands. Then at Gueira's face. Or the red mess that was Gueria's face before Galo-

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!" Galo is prepared for another blow, but Meis only leaps to Gueira's side and sends Galo a glare before looking at Gueira. 

"I'm-" He doesn't remember hitting Gueria. He doesn't remember doing... this. And yet, there's blood on his hands, his knuckles hurt, and Guiera is over there, groaning-

"Let me look at you." Meis's voice is soft again, but his brows are knitted together, mouth pursed into a thin line as he barely touches Gueira's face and tries to angle it to see better. 

"Don't worry, babe, I'm okay-" Gueira's voice is harsh, and, fuck, there's so much blood-

And for just a fraction of a second, Gueira's eyes slide over Meis's shoulder and Galo meets his gaze.

Galo sees fear.

He's not the bad one. He isn't. Kray is, and always has been.

 _Are you sure?_ There's the voice again. _You were so convinced he's innocent this whole time. Who's to say that you don't think it even now? That you unconsciously don't still try to do things for him? Hungry for attention, are you?_

"Shut up," Galo mumbles. 

Aina's grip on his arm tightens. "Are you okay?"

Galo wants to laugh. Nothing is okay. From the moment Lio disappeared, nothing was okay. Maybe even from the time that they defeated Kray. 

He shrugs her hands off, and she doesn't stop him. "Galo-"

"No." He doesn't know what he's answering. Her question? The voice's? 

Blood sticks to him, seeps into his skin, crawls under his nails and lay eggs there, ready to hatch the guilt.

Galo cuts it all off as he stands up. 

Meis is saying something, and Gueira is answering, both of them so soft and careful and full of something that burns in them more than whatever they may harbor for Galo.

Galo hates them for that.

He wipes the blood into his pants and tries not to think.

* * *

Lio closes his eyes and watches the world collapse around him to the sound of the man’s voice.

* * *

He doesn't know where he's going. Forward, mostly. Then to the left, and the right, into one alley after another, all different and yet the same. At times like this Galo hates how organised the city is, all sharp edges and clear cuts. 

And yet, there's some part of Promepolis that's older, a remnant of the world that was before, and as Galo walks he starts noticing more and more buildings made of old stone rather than steel and glass, more worn off streets and heaps of trash. 

It's not their district, so they probably have never been there on a call. It would be a nightmare to put out, that's for sure - but maybe there isn't anything here that could be raided. It's not a place Lio would choose to take from, not with how little there is to take.

Galo's knuckles hurt as much as his feet when some all too colorful neon light catches his eye. Some bar, he decides. 

It's as good as anything. 

His hand yells in protest as he pushes the door open.

It's small and dirty, with an old TV screen next to the bar. Some people are watching it while drinking something that could be beer or vomit, and honestly either of those would be okay with Galo at this point. 

He orders a beer and the bartender stares at him suspiciously, but in the end pours him a glass. It's all too warm and bitter, but it's still better than anything else.

He can't think. Not now. 

He downs the beer all too quickly and stares blankly at the TV screen as he gestures at the barman to pour him another. 

A flash of lights, all too bright in the dim room is hypnotizing. He drinks his second beer and almost chokes on it. Normally, he wouldn't touch alcohol unless on a special occasion - he hates the bitterness and how the world stops making sense, how it makes him stupid when he should be ready to jump right back into action at any second. 

He welcomes the slowly rising nausea and the humming in his ears as he stares at the screen. Pretty people in nice suits are arguing about something. He's almost sure he heard someone mention Kray, but it could as well be something he imagined. It probably is. Even if Kray is somehow really out, and then Galo would be left with nothing-

No. Not really. He has an option, doesn't he? 

It's hard to press buttons on his phone with the world swaying as it does, but he manages to do it, somehow. He doesn't know what is typing or if it makes any sense, but he hits 'send' anyway.

He gets a response in the time it takes him to finish yet another beer. He almost knocks the glass over as he stands up and swipes his card on the register. No one looks at him as he leaves, and he's grateful for that.

The taxi driver doesn't seem to recognize him either, or maybe Galo just doesn't notice, but he's grateful anyway. He tries to ignore the rising urge to gag in his throat and opens the window, cool air doing nothing to calm his stomach down.

He tells the driver goodnight. He steps and almost trips on the pavement. He presses the wrong doorbell and doesn't wait to apologize as he moves to the next.

And finally, the door opens, and it's a face Galo doesn't hate to see right now.

"Hello," Tanya says with a small smile on her lips. She looks like she has just gone out the shower, with fluffy, freshly dried hair that has just started to curl. Would she have time for that when Galo was driving to her? How long was it?

"Hey," Galo says, and he hopes he manages to sound not as drunk as he feels. "We need to talk."

"I suppose so," she says. She helps him take his jacket off, which is nice of her. She smells clean and fresh, and she smiles every time she catches Galo staring. 

"We- uh. Kray." Words are suddenly hard now. He has to grab the wall not to topple over, and Tanya is kind enough to lead him to an armchair. 

"Kray, yes," she says as she leans over him. She isn't wearing a bra, he notices, not with how her breasts hang and press on the edge of the soft cloth, threatening to spill at any second.

"He's out. I don't know- I thought, you might know what to do."

"I just might." She speaks in short sentences, which Galo appreciates, and in a cryptic way Galo does not.

"You said- strategy meeting. So I'm here." She's very close. The smell of soap attacks his nostrils, makes his head spin and stomach turn. 

"Mhm." She does something at the front of his chest. Fingers. Checking for something. Injuries? Heartbeat? Why would she do that? 

No. Galo can't focus on that. He needs to ask her for help, clearly, and she's being nice tonight, so she will give it. She must. 

She starts to play with the strap of his medical sleeve, which is weird, but he has just enough brainpower left to acknowledge it and furrow his brows.

"Kray," Galo says again, "he, he told me where one killer is. There are- I think, two, Meis said two."

She nods and hums, and her fingers slide off lower, on his hips. She moves back on her knees and pushes his legs apart. He tries to close them, but her grip is strong, stronger than he thought. 

No. Ignore it. Speak.

"Lio, Lio is at the other one. Uh, maybe. But Kray won't help, and-"

"Have you really come here just to talk?" She bats her eyelashes again. Oh, she's closer now, her face almost at his crotch. 

Her hand under the table. A coquettish smirk on her lips. It's all the same as before, and Galo freezes. 

"I-" He licks his lips when she moves her fingers and his pants pop open, all too quick, he doesn't want this, he can't move-

"I told you before, haven't I?" Her wet hair brushes his thighs as she leans forward, breathes at the skin of his abdomen. "I can help you. And I will. But you need to relax, first. And I know just the trick."

He doesn't want her to. He doesn't know her, doesn't trust her, doesn't- 

And yet he can't move as she pushes his boxers down and grabs his cock with her long, manicured fingers. She kisses at the hair he hasn't shaved in awhile, just the barest hint of tongue, and it makes Galo's stomach turn and twist and he doesn't know if he wants to shout or gag.

It's Lio. It should be Lio. Not- not her, not this, not like this-

"I may know a way to stall Governor's process, but I do require payment, you know." He feels her words on his skin, the way her throat vibrates millimeters of him. "I am good at many things, as you will see."

He can't. He doesn't want to. 

He tries to move away, but it only makes her fingers clamp on him harder, move quicker, and he can't do it, not with his body betraying him and making him remember that he hadn't jacked off in a while. He hates it, hates the way his dick grows into full attention under her hands, hates the smirk on her face, she was supposed to help, listen-

She flicks her wrist in a sharp rhythm, and Galo tries his hardest to ignore it. "You- Please, I don't know what to do, you need to help Lio and with Kray and-"

"First I need to help you, big boy." She does something with her thumb and Galo cries out, sudden, sharp and unwanted, but she smiles anyway. "Look at that fat cock. I'm flattered."

He doesn't want this. _He doesn't want this._

She lowers her head and suddenly Galo is enveloped in the tight heat, too much, so wrong, no, Lio bobbing his head on that guy's dick, swallowing, making those lewd sounds that Galo doesn't want to hear, face full of tears and snot-

She sucks down hard, picking up her pace, and Galo wants to die at the grunt flying out his throat. She watches him with big, hungry eyes, and Galo wishes he hadn't had the guts to come to her.

She moves her head up and down, mercilessly swallowing him to the hilt with a wet slurp that makes Galo shiver with something he hopes is disgust. Anything else would be a betrayal, of himself and Lio-

_But Lio is not yours. He never was. You hadn't told him, and he did not answer, and now he will never-_

"Shut up," Galo murmurs, and the sound dies in the wet squelch Tanya's mouth makes on his dick.

He should close his eyes, but it would probably be worse that way. More images, more graphic and more insistent; they are already flooding him, taking over what little he can feel, and he hates that this is what is keeping him anchored in place.

He feels the pleasure build, little by little, and it's wrong, but at least it will end soon, she will stop if he cums, and she pulls off him again, lapping at the slit and licking off the droplets of precome and-

Galo hears his phone ring.

Tanya looks pleased when he grunts again, and then considerably less so when Galo pushes her away and stands up. His dick is still red and hard, but he tries to tuck it into his pants anyway.

"Sorry, have to take it," he mumbles and all but runs away to the corridor.

His jacket is on the hanger, and lo and behold, he didn't imagine the sound. The screen is lit and there is a notification on the top. 

An unknown number again. If it's Kray, Galo is going to fuck it all and call and yell at the bastard for being such a dick and awful fucking excuse for a human being who doesn't care a damn about anything other than his own ass.

Galo taps the notification and squints. A message. Not a text one. It takes a second to load, and he taps the arrow that appears.

" _-baby girl. Yes, like this. Smile._ "

Skin, bones, light hair. Glassy eyes, not looking at anything, and yet the gaze pierces inside Galo as they look into the camera.

" _Spread your legs for me._ "

Galo watches as the eyes blink, slowly, then brows furrow in thought. And he raises his legs up, _fuck_ , what the fuck is wrong with them, all charred and _bone and there is something inside his ass and_ -

“You really just ran away to watch porn?” Tanya leans on the wall, arms crossed, but still a smile on her lips. 

“ _-show me that tight pussy, so wet-_ ”

“Sounds kinky,” Tanya says. “Care to share?”

She doesn’t wait for permission and grabs the phone out of Galo’s hands before he can stop it. 

Tanya looks at the screen with a smirk on her face - and stops smiling. “What- Is that _Fotia?!_ ”

Galo can’t take it. He can’t. Not like this, alone and powerless with the wet sounds coming from the phone and the cries, god, Lio is crying-

"What the fuck." Tanya's voice is coming from far away. Galo can barely hear it through the sounds coming from the phone.

" _So beautiful_ … _perfect wife..._ "

Galo's eyes hurt as if he were about to cry, but nothing comes out. Nothing that would give him the relief of the world going blurry, uneven, so far and distant that Galo can try to believe that it isn't happening. That Lio isn't being hurt when Galo was doing fuck all and letting that woman almost suck him off with a smile, that he wasn't making everything worse, hurting everyone around him and fucking letting Kray go and-

Tanya's hands don't shake as she stops the video and hands him back his phone. The screen is locked, dark and unresponsive, and Galo is glad for that.

Ragged bone tearing out of Lio's skin. The dark flesh that has long since started to rot on his ankles. Blood drying on the insides of his thighs, the dark thing inside him, red lines on his chest and arms and the way the flesh shook where it shouldn't. 

"It isn't the first time something like this happen," Tanya says. It isn't a question. She looks at him with steel determination, completely different than how she acted before, all smiles and dark looks.

Galo shakes his head. 

"Did you tell anyone?"

Another shake of his head. His throat clamps down, refuses to let him make any sound. God, it would be so much easier if he had more alcohol in him. 

She gives him a long look that Galo can't decipher. He doesn't care what she thinks. Even if she does work for Kray, somehow, and if somehow she knows everything anyway, ready to jump at Galo's weak mind and tear him to shreds.

Tanya rubs her temples. "God fucking dammit."

Galo couldn't agree more.

* * *

Lio can't smell the corpse anymore. 

It shouldn't be possible. And yet his body feels... different. The sensations are definitely unfamiliar. What he's laying on is not the cheap mattress anymore, and the smells in the air aren't of sill, heavy air filled with damp and sweet rotting meat and the crisp aftertaste of blood. 

He must be hallucinating. His brain finally gave up all the way. He must be, because the alternative would be that he's out, and he can't be out. That would change everything.

That would mean that this may end.

Lio forces a breath in. His mind is still muggy and sluggish, but when he focuses, he can try to tell the world apart. How long has it been since he ate? The drugs can be wearing off, slow and squeamish, but undeniable. 

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He can focus. He can think. 

He can, but the only images his brain can focus on is the memory of rough hands, the panting, wet slaps of skin on skin, so pretty, _my woman_ -

He can't. He can't think of that or he'll never go forward. Focus. Breathe.

His chest hurts. It's heavy, heavier than before, but Lio can’t look down at his body. Something in him screams at him not to, and his eyes are still unfocused. 

Let's start with this, Lio decides. He bites his lip and the sharp tinge of pain makes his nerves jolt and forces his brain awake. There's blood on his tongue, but it doesn't creep him out as before.

Focus. Focus. 

Lio looks down on his body and finally, finally the fog clears up a bit. 

Something is wrapped around his skin, sticking to it - no, that's not right. It's a cloth, thin and light, loose enough for Lio's roughened up tissue not to recognize it. It's see-through with just the smallest hint of white, like a window curtain. Why would the man-?

No. It's not important. The room. What is in the room? What can Lio use?

He needs a second, but it's easier this time. The walls are blue, the color so bright after all the time Lio has stared at the dark concrete, and it looks- It looks normal. A normal bedroom in a normal house, with a wardrobe in the corner and a nightstand with a lamp and a bookshelf full of big, thick tomes Lio can't read the spines of. 

And, god, there is a window. A window seeping in the light of the outside.

A window is all that separates Lio from ending it all.

Why is he here? What in the fuck would lead the man to move Lio to wherever this is, when Lio is almost conscious for the first time in what feels like forever?

Doesn't matter. If he escapes, it doesn't matter. He has to reach the window, or scream, or something - anything that can make him get out from here.

He won't look at his body. It's irrelevant. It doesn't matter what happened, what it has been twisted into; he just needs it to move, go, function for one fucking moment. He can deal with it later.

Lio takes in the air, too crisp to exist, too sweet, and commands his arms to move. 

He can feel his fingers twitch. No. Not now. Not when he can _see_ the outside, the glimpse of the sky, heavy and dark but _there-_

Lio opens his mouth and something gurgles in his throat. His tongue- it’s too heavy, he can’t move it, and the blood on his mouth is flooding him, choking, suffocating.

He's dying. He may die like this, not knowing where he is or what's going on, with freedom in sight, with the end so close, and it's all his fault, his-

Breathe. Breathe. He can breathe through his nose. _Come on._

This voice - Galo. Galo, smiling, so bright, so brave, holding his hand, pressing his mouth against Lio's, giving him the spark he so desperately needs himself.

For Galo.

_Eat, Lio. Please._

His throat contracts, painful and slow, but the muscles remember when he gives them a small nudge. Downing coffee in their kitchen, Galo's worried eyes. 

The saliva slides down Lio's throat, and his nostrils flare as he forces the air through them into his lungs. They sting, try to defy him, Galo, _Galo._

He breathes out and his head spins, drunk on oxygen, and it feels like a victory. 

It's easier the second time and he doesn't need to direct it after a third. 

Good. He can do it. He can if he focuses enough and remembers why he needs to.

His body stays unresponsive and broken, numb to everything, but now at least he has some control over his mind. It's more than he can ask for, after all this.

He needs to remember. Gather information and use it.

Breathe, in and out. _Galo_. What happened?

He remembers eating. He remembers what was after like a broken film, blurry in the middle with flashes in and out. What did the man say? 

_Beautiful. My baby girl._

No. Not this. Anything but the weight on him and the touches. Something else. The man must have slipped somewhere, when Lio was barely there, said something he shouldn't have that Lio can use.

Lio holding his legs up, showing him what he wants, without hesitation, without a shade of a thought of disobedience-

It's still inside him. He didn't notice it at first, but it's there, lodged in his insides, still stretching him to the brim. God, did he really get so used to this he can't notice it anymore?

Did the man already-?

No. Lio would remember. He doesn't know how, but he's sure he would. 

_-move, baby girl._

He said they need to move. Why? The bastard said before that Galo wasn't even looking. That's a lie, it has to be. If Galo wasn't looking, there wouldn't be a reason for the man to move Lio.

He closes his eyes and tries to make his brain respond. He was moved. To where? He should have remembered it. He should have.

If he doesn't remember this, how can he be sure that the man-

Lio groans. His mind is still a jumbled mess. Less so than before, but still unresponsive and useless.

If this doesn't work, he has to do something else.

Lio forces himself to open his eyes again. The light is less harsh on his eyes than the bright one in the basement. Is it more dim? Is it so late already? How long has he been out?

No. He can't force himself to remember. He has to look and think about what he can see for sure.

He doesn't want to look at his body, but he can't ignore it forever. The man will use it against him if he does.

Lio bites his lip and the pain makes his mind brighten for a second. And then he looks down.

The material is white and light, like a window curtain, but soft and flowy, with lace at the edges. It’s see-through, enough for Lio to see the panties on his hips, the same, white lace, ridiculously small and with way too many ribbons. He has a garter belt on, holding something at the top of his thighs - not stockings, just lace digging into his skin. He did gain weight at his hips. They are more… floppy than he remembers. Well, at least the man did not try to force a stocking on Lio’s mangled feet. It doesn't look or feel anything better, and so does the wound with the bone still peeking.

It doesn’t have the sick purulence and fester it started, before. It got cleaned properly while he was out.

It doesn’t make Lio feel better.

And now - now the thing Lio does not want to look at.

His chest is swollen, red and pink all over, covered in stretch marks and broken skin, all of it trying to contain what has grown inside him like a tumor and given him something that shouldn’t be here. The heavy weight on his bones doesn’t go away even when he focuses, stubbornly refuses to fade away like a proper nightmare.

Lio’s nightmares have seeped into reality a long time ago. This one is just one of the many. A bundle of fat in the wrong place, made from his own body.

_If this was able to grow in such a short time, what else could have grown?_

No. This is one thought he won’t try to follow, even if it means losing leverage. He won’t. 

_But what if, what-_

Lio gags. He feels acid in the back of his throat - and he gulps it down, ignores the burn and closes his eyes once again. He can’t vomit. It would be defiance, staining the clothes he was forced into, and it wouldn’t be worth it. He still isn’t sure he could swallow all of it down, and he’s not about to choke on his vomit and die in a dress with a plug up his ass.

He will survive. _They are not looking_. Even so, he will. He has to. As long as he’s here, as long as he pretends to submit, everyone will be safe. _Galo isn’t looking_. He shouldn’t be. Lio is insignificant now, in the world without Burnish, without everything that made them special, chosen, warm. Now there’s only hate and fear and maybe it’s better that Lio is here, apart from it all. Galo can do what he wants without the weight of Lio dragging him down.

Galo must be sad. He always cared too much, especially about insignificant things. But he will move on. And he will make everything better. 

Even now, he does. 

Something warm floods Lio’s mind, seeps little by little until it becomes a wave, an ocean of inferno, Galo’s smile, Galo’s hands, Galo’s voice.

And Lio loves him.

He loves him too much to fuck it all up just because of his own selfishness. He deserves it. 

He deserves it, and yet some part of him still whines and cries about the world outside the window, just there, barely out of reach.

Lio is about to try to move again when he hears a sound.

It's different from the ones he's used to by now. It's almost familiar. The clink of metal, a sound of a key turning in the lock, and then the shuffling in the corridor. Galo always comes home late. Galo always makes a lot of noise, enough for Lio to hear him from miles away.

But the steps are all wrong, different rhythms, different creak of a different floor. Different sounds of the bedroom doors opening.

"Hey, baby girl. Rested well?"

He looks different in this light. In the darkness or illuminated by the dying lightbulbs Lio could delude himself, see this man as a monster he is through his actions. Now it strikes him how normal the man looks - unremarkable, plain, with a semi-formal attire that is just enough for every gaze to slide off it without a thought. 

Lio could have met him before and he wouldn't know. 

"Still a bit silly, I see." The man smiles in a way that would make Lio flinch if he could move anything but his eyeballs. "Don't worry. It will wear off soon enough."

 _Why, though,_ Lio wants to ask. It's not like it would be bad, per se, but he doubts he would be able to do much.

He wasn't able to do much even when he could move, before.

The man moves, lazy, slow steps before he sits at the edge of the bed. "You look beautiful."

He doesn't. His skin is torn apart and mutilated, his legs are rotting and he can't stop spit from running down his chin. And yet the man looks at him with those hungry eyes, hand already making its way to Lio's body. Lio knows this look all too well.

"I knew white would look good on you." He strokes up Lio's sides, tips of his fingers cold through the fabric. "It suits you better than all that black." 

It suits you, said Galo with a hint of a blush on his cheeks as he and Lio were preparing for the gala. Lio has never had the chance to wear a suit properly, not with all that time spent on the run, but Burning Rescue was nice enough to find him one that fit his form. It's white with small black accents here and there, form-fitting and yet loose enough not to restrict his movements. 

Lio kept it, put in their wardrobe and wondered if he could think of an occasion to wear it again. Maybe it still is there, waiting for him to come back.

The man's hand travels up, higher, nails scraping at the red lines on his chest. He doesn't stop there, thank gods, nothing more than a quick flick on Lio's nipple that gives him enough pain to wince and nothing more.

Fingers stop at Lio's chin, tracing the bone and angling his head up. "Do you like it here? It's your new home."

It doesn’t feel like home. Home is a place where Galo smiles and makes Lio breakfast and burns the eggs like the idiot he is, only for them to eat cereal before racing to the station. It isn’t - _this._

The man’s thumb spreads the saliva on his chin, traces his lips. _Fingers inside, snapping his mouth open, forcing the disgusting flesh inside, choking, suffocating, like this, fuck, slut-_

“Oh, almost forgot.” The man’s hands withdraw, a small blessing before he opens the drawer somewhere next to the bed.

It’s not a weapon. It’s not even lube. 

“I thought it might suit you,” the man says, and the flower crown in his hands looks too delicate, too pure with its small, white flowers and fresh green of their stems. It’s fresh, with some droplets of water pooling in-between petals. It must have been put there not so long ago.

It has no right to look so beautiful in those hands. 

The man lets Lio look for a while longer before he moves again, careful, and puts the flower on top of Lio’s head.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out against Lio’s face.

It’s too warm. Too sticky on his skin. Too wet.

“I think you are ready, Lio.”


	6. Chapter 6

It's quiet in the station when they arrive.

Aina is quick to jump to his side, eyeing Tanya with suspicion. Tanya doesn't seem to care, her hand brushing against Galo's side when she walks into the station with her usual confidence and directs her steps to Ignis's office. Galo doesn't know how she knows where it is, but it isn't exactly something he wants to think about right now.

Aina makes him sit on the couch. "Who was that?"

"Tanya," Galo says. Aina raises her brow.

"A lawyer," Galo tries again. "Said she can help with Kray."

"Hm." Aina doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't press the issue. Maybe because it's god knows how late.

Galo tries not to look around, but as always, Aina seems to catch on way earlier than she should. "Meis and Gueira have gone home. Gueira has a broken nose, but it's nothing serious. Just a shit ton of blood."

"Mhm." They are pissed, for sure. And they will be more pissed soon. Galo doesn't know what Tanya is doing, but whatever it is, he's sure he will be the one blamed for the whole thing. And that's fair, he supposes. 

He should be.

Aina looks at him with the same concern as before, but at least she isn’t spoutning some nonsense about how it isn’t Galo’s fault or whatever. Galo is grateful for that. Comforting lies aren’t really what he needs right now. 

What he needs… What _does_ he need? He knows what Lio needs - to be rescued, helped, saved. It’s easy. Much easier than trying to take a long, hard look at himself.

Aina puts her hands on his shoulders and closes in. He tenses - and, oh. She’s hugging him.

She’s warm and soft and her hair tickles his face, but he leans into the touch anyway. 

Her hands thread through his hair, from the top of his skull to the bottom, a slow, careful movement. He doesn’t remember anyone doing this, ever. And suddenly, he’s choking up, eyes watering, and he doesn’t know why or how, but all the feelings flow out of him all at once: fear, doubt, resignation, disgust - all of it pouring out of his eyes, onto her shoulder in a stream of sobs and sniffs. He tries to press harder into her skin to hide it, but she only continues to stroke his hair, slowly, patiently.

She doesn’t try to lie that it’ll be alright. That Galo can get through this if he only focuses and asks his friends for help. It’s not the case, and they both know it.

It’s not something they can fix now. Maybe ever. Maybe Lio really _is_ going to be killed, broken, mangled and abused to the point where he’ll never be the same, and Galo with him.

But the world won’t stop for them, not now, not ever, and it will not give them the mercy they so desperately ask for. Galo doesn’t accept it, but his acceptance is not needed. Not wanted. Not required for the world to move forward, with or without him, with or without his actions. With or without Lio in it.

Galo sobs, and Aina doesn’t comfort him.

* * *

Lio had imagined this differently.

Well, mostly he tried _not_ to imagine it. Some part of him clinged onto the hope that it will not happen, can’t happen. That he will prevent it, one way or another. 

It was naive of him, of course. But naivety seemed to help, so he held onto that as hard as he could. Even if he knew damn well that it won’t last.

Reality, as always, proves him wrong. He isn’t choked. He isn’t fighting back. He isn’t crying.

He lays there, on the bed, unmoving as the man on him mouths at his neck and pushes up the thin excuse for clothing on his thighs. 

“You’re so fucking _hot,_ ” the man breathes out against Lio’s throat. He’s hard already. Lio can feel the shape poking at his thigh, still clothed, but it won’t be long. It never is.

If only his mind was still that jumbled, drugged mess like before. At least he wouldn’t remember. Wouldn’t feel. But the man wants him to feel this, for some sick reason.

He could have killed Lio. Slip just a bit too much of what he laced his food with. And Lio would spasm and cry in the dark and finally, finally die, without humiliation, without shame. But that would be too much to ask for. He doesn’t deserve it.

The man grunts and tugs at Lio’s panties. They catch on the bump of a bone on Lio’s calf. The man just leaves them there, and Lio doesn’t care. 

He grabs at Lio’s thighs and kneels between them on the bed. His eyes are hungry, always hungry, always watching and eating up Lio ‘till there’s nothing left. And soon, there won’t. 

The flower crown feels infinitely heavy as Lio tries to raise his head to at least watch what is going on. It doesn’t feel real. Not the man, not the room or the sunlight or the heaviness of his own limbs. It’s like a nightmare. A sleep paralysis curse that he will wake up from at any moment, and then Galo will rustle next to him and blink sleepily and ask if Lio had a nightmare again.

 _Yes,_ Lio will say. _Just a nightmare._

Galo will furrow his brows with concern like he always does. _The ice again?_

 _No. Not this time._ A sigh. _I should probably stop filling my head with all that graphic news and stuff._

This is nothing but a nightmare. A fragment of his sick imagination feeding off all what he has been through, all the hatred and atrocities he knows people did to the Burnish. Just a nightmare. Just something he needs to go through.

The man finally manages to take the panties off. He holds them in his hands with two fingers, and Lio can see that they are wet, lace darkened on the downside. Lio hopes it’s piss.

He knows it isn’t. 

“So wet already.” The man grins and Lio can see the moisture on his fingers as he drags them inside the lace. “You want to be bred so much.”

Lio’s own dick is already starting to twitch at the attention. He hates that the lightest touch, even a _suggestion_ of one is enough for his body to submit and obey without a thought given. He has been trained, like a dog. Like an obedient _wife_ , ready to spread their legs for the dear husband’s cock.

He should have died.

The panties hit the floor with a wet splat. Lio doesn’t wince. 

The man reaches for his pants and the buckle clinks. He’s wearing different things than usual. Sweatpants would have been easier to take off quickly and get it over with, but the man seems to want to take things slow, look at Lio falling apart, helpless and defenseless.

And Lio can’t as much as move when he pushes his pants down and frees his cock. He strokes it, slow, deliberate movements, showing off more than anything else. He’s hard already, sick fuck.

He’s big. Lio knows this, of course. It felt big in his mouth, on his skin - but would it be able to fit _inside_? Where it shouldn’t be? The thought alone is disgusting. If he felt like throwing up already, barely being able to feel the smell coming off the man, how much worse will it be?

But he has the plug already inside, stretching him. It will help. It has to.

“I’m going to take you now,” the man says, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

Lio wants to scream. To kick. Fight him off, get him _off him_ \- and his body stubbornly refuses to do that. And, worst of all - it does feel _good_ when the man presses down on him, his stomach touching Lio’s dick. 

It shouldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t _feel_ at all.

The man pushes his face against Lio’s, tongue forcing itself past the barely parted lips. Lio moans against it. The man likes when Lio moans. And if he likes it, it will end faster. _Please let it end faster._

The man licks his mouth for a bit longer before pulling away. “You have no idea how you look right now.” He runs his fingers through Lio’s hair, from the bottom almost to the top, stopping at the firm line of the flower crown. “A pretty bride with an empty womb.” He presses down on Lio’s abdomen, just next to Lio’s cock, and Lio moans again into the air. The sound of it echoes in his skull. _He didn’t have to do that. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t want to be touched by this man, not now, not ever, because if he wants it, then he can’t blame him, because Lio likes it, is asking for it, begging-_

“I will keep fucking you until you swell with a child, you know.” He presses down, just under Lio’s bellybutton. To his womb.

That isn’t right. He is a man. Lio is a man.

Is he?

_What if that changed, too. What if it’s inside of me. What if I really can carry a child. And if I just let this happen, it’ll stop. It’ll stop._

_Please let it stop._

The man presses his body to Lio’s, long licks at his mouth as he moves Lio’s legs away to the sides, reaching between them.

The plug falls out of him with a squelch, an agony, discomfort, and then nothing at all.

The man kisses Lio’s face and pushes in, careful, long, forceful, and Lio doesn’t stop him. He moans and bottoms out, and Lio’s voice betrays him when his hand finally wraps against Lio’s dick. His body is heavy, unresponsive, and yet still does those small rolls of hips, until the man puts his knees under Lio’s ass and pushes him up, pressing on the mattress.

He should be forceful, hold Lio down, use him and throw away. Not move his hands up and down Lio’s dick, not go slow even though his fingers are pressing into Lio’s hips so hard his pelvis might just snap. And he definitely shouldn't do that thing with his thrusting so deep and right against something that makes Lio shudder and ignite with want, even though it’s disgusting and wrong.

“I knew that you would be the best. Your tits look so sexy now.” A hand against his chest, _no,_ sharp pain as the nipple is twisted and pulled, enough for Lio to feel the wetness swelling in his eyes.

It hurts. It’s good. It’s agony. He wants to come. He wants the man off him, inside him, harder, _stop,_ Galo-

The man stops. He actually does, and for a second Lio’s flooded with triumph, satisfaction.

Then the man puts his hands on Lio’s throat.

“Don’t you dare speak of Thymos while I’m inside you.”

 _Oh,_ Lio thinks as the fingers tighten around his windpipe. _I said it out loud. Stupid._

It’s not like Galo would come help. It’s not like anyone would.

Lio is already broken, and all that’s left is for the man to claim all of him.

And he does, fingers tight, pace quickening, and Lio hopes that when the darkness finally takes over his vision and mind he will at least be able to die.

* * *

It’s different, now. Not only because Galo isn’t alone. The whole thing feels different, more unreal, unlike how it had been when he went to the location Kray had given him and dragged out the killer, thrashing around and running on pure adrenaline while turning the place upside down just to find Lio.

They don’t even allow him to go into the building now.

Aina stays by his side the whole time, eyeing him carefully, as if she expects him to try to bolt to the door of the warehouse and start yelling bloody murder. Not that Galo doesn’t want to do just that - the waiting is killing him, knowing that Lio can be here if only Lucia’s research is correct.

Her voice booms in his head, echoes the words. _I can track the place from where it was sent,_ she said, calm and with that tone laced with mischievousness as always, but she doesn’t try to meet Galo’s gaze. She knows. She has to know. _I could have compared that to the one from before, but it’s too old now. Telecommunication companies don’t keep those logs for long._

Galo hears the judgment in her voice. He should have shown them. He could have helped Lio, and he chose not to for some dumb reason. Fuck pride. Pride means nothing if Lio is not here, if he’s-

No. He can’t think like that. Not now. 

_But what if-_

“Shut up,” Galo says. 

Aina raises her brows. “You okay?”

God, no. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t believe him for a second. “We can sit down if you need to.”

He shakes his head. He has to be ready for whatever’s coming. He doesn’t hear gunshots, yet, but it could all change in a second. 

_What if he’s doing it right now. What if he’s on Lio, spreading his legs, raping him on that mattress-_

Galo groans and kicks a rock next to his feet. It flies forward, into the concrete wall of the warehouse, and jumps off somewhere to the side, leaving only an empty ache on his foot. 

He wants to do something. He _needs_ to do something, and he can’t, because he was stupid enough to show everyone just how untrustworthy he is, and now everyone is eyeing him with suspicion when they think he isn’t looking. 

Meis is the only one who doesn’t look at him at all, and that’s worse. Galo saw him before, coming into the building with Ignis and Varys, and he almost walked up to him to apologize, but his legs stubbornly refused to move and he couldn’t find the right words to say. A half-baked apology would probably make everything worse, so once again he has to wait.

Galo is so tired of waiting. “I’m coming in.”

“No, you’re not.” Aina grips his arm once again. He sends her a glare, but she doesn’t as much as twitch.

“Aina-”

“The captain said no. And for the record, I, too, don’t think that you coming in would be a good idea.”

Not anymore, she means. Not after they have all seen what is being done to Lio. Not after they have started doubting Galo, too.

“You can’t make a mess just before the trial, Galo.” She sighs, but her grip on him stays strong. “Kray’s going to use everything he has against you. You know that.”

Galo shrugs. “It’ll be hard for him to justify trying to kill all the Earth.”

“You would be surprised,” Aina snorts. “Just think: if he was able to get away with all this stuff while he was in office, in the middle of the spotlight, what’s to say he won’t try to get away with it now? He convinced so many people that he was right.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“Well, truth doesn’t mean much if people feel lying is justified.” 

Galo can’t find words to argue with it. He kicks the ground, and a cloud of dust rises, then comes back down on his clothes. Great. Now he’s tired _and_ dirty.

The place is in the middle of nowhere and no matter how hard Galo tries not to think about it, it’s the perfect place to sneak in and out unnoticed. There are car tracks here, fresh ones, so _someone_ has been here.

There’s no car, though. Which means that either someone has left and Lio is alone, or that something changed - the man started to go by foot or, or _something,_ just a small thing that might so easily ruin everything Galo has tried to do.

 _At least, he_ remembers someone speaking, _we know Fotia is alive._

Such a low bar. Lio shouldn’t be trying to be alive, he should be out here, fighting for everything he stands for, tall and proud and so bright as he speaks with that tone that Galo hated when they first met, then grew to love. He should be laughing and talking to the kids, joking with Meis and Gueira. He should be asleep on the sofa in their home, snoring lightly and wrinkling his nose in that funny way that Galo likes to tease him about.

And yet here they are, staring at the ugly concrete building. 

He sighs and shakes his head. “Can’t they hurry up?”

Aina finally releases her grip. He’ll have bruises, for sure. “You know this whole thing is delicate.”

“Delicate,” Galo repeats. “Nothing about it is delicate.” 

Aina looks at him again. Her expressions softens just so slightly - still on guard, but now… is this pity? Galo doesn’t need pity. Lio doesn’t need pity. Just for the universe to give them a break, finally.

A sudden noise, and Galo all but jumps to the entrance. 

The look on Varys’s face makes Galo remember that time when he walked out of Galo’s apartment, and Galo’s heart sinks. 

He pushes the feeling down. “Is Lio there?!”

Varys doesn’t look him in the eye. “We found a body.”

Galo’s stomach turns. _No. Not like this. Please._

“‘A’ body?” Aina is already by his side, her hand just barely brushing against his back. “Not Fotia’s, then?”

“A woman’s. But it’s…”

Relief floods Galo, and immediately guilt hits him, too. He shouldn’t be relieved that someone died, not again - but it’s not Lio, thank gods, _not Lio_.

“An ex-Burnish.” Meis doesn’t look at Galo, too, as he shoves his way past Varys. “She disappeared some time ago, but we didn’t think it could be connected. Many of us already left the city after Foresight was released.” 

Another prickle of guilt. There’s nothing but cold, impersonal information in Meis’s voice, but Galo feels the offense anyway. 

Suddenly, Meis comes closer, too close, almost as if he is getting ready to hit Galo again. Galo freezes.

Meis raises his eyes. “Boss isn’t here.”

And once again, this ugly, dark feeling twists in the pit of his stomach, spreading into his blood and poisoning the brain. Of course he isn’t there. There’s no way it could be that easy. There’s no way out, and it’s all his fault, even though everyone is too polite to point it out.

Everyone but Meis. “If you have told us earlier, we would have gotten him. It’s freshly abandoned. He must have caught wind of us coming. Or someone tipped him off.”

Aina steps in front of Galo. “You can’t possibly- Galo would never do that and you know it!”

Meis snorts. “Well, he had no problem selling himself out to Foresight again. Who knows how far he is willing to go?”

“YOU CAN'T JUST-” 

Aina is yelling again, but it’s too far away, like a radio tuned just a bit wrong. It’s all white noise, unimportant, all-consuming, pooling inside Galo’s mind and wiping out anything that could be there. 

Meis is not even looking in her direction. He’s still staring down Galo, unmoving, lips pressed into a thin line.

It’s his fault. He knows it is. A person is dead, again, and again he has missed Lio, just barely, just enough for him to feel him slip out of his grasp, almost able to touch. Once again, he has let Lio down.

 _And maybe_ , the voice murmurs, _maybe that’s what you deserve. Maybe you will never find him. Maybe you will do it all for nothing and be hated for what you did. Maybe that’s your happy end, alone and broken, knowing that you fucked up all that he tried to do._

Galo looks into Meis’s eyes and sees the same fire as when they had first met.

* * *

Tanya waves at him from the other side of the room. Galo gives her a nod. She beams, for some reason, and goes back to talking with some men in suits.

Galo can’t find a reason to smile. 

Dealing with the trial is, as always, awful. Galo barely hears what anyone is saying, let alone understands it. Maybe that’s the goal. To dumb him down to the point he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to anymore.

Well, not like that would be much of a change. 

He stands in the middle of the room and tries to appear very interested in a paper cup he’s holding. On the opposite side, he can see another group of people, and they look much more grim and uptight than the ones Tanya is talking with. Or maybe that’s just Galo’s imagination. He knows they are the ones working for Kray, after all.

Galo can’t imagine a decent person would ever work for Kray after all that happened. He can’t imagine _anyone_ who would still support him or try to defend him, ever. Isn’t that the point? To bring Kray to justice for what he did? For everyone to face the facts and decide what to do?

And yet, there they are, men and women talking and laughing as if they weren’t trying to make everything worse.

“Hey, big boy.” Tanya walks to him, her heels clacking on the floor. She raises her hand and puts them on the side of Galo’s neck, as if to straighten his collar. It’s perfectly straight as it is already - Galo has checked it enough times today - but he lets her do that anyway. It’s all a spectacle. A show to put up in front of everyone, to prove - whatever Tanya said they need to prove. 

“How are you holding up?” She releases his neck only to latch onto his arm. 

Galo fakes a smile. “Am I allowed to say ‘horrible’?”

“Not officially. But, yeah. All the small talk and licking asses is a pain.” She still has that sickly sweet smile on her face, even as she lowers her voice just a bit. “Listen, we need to talk to the defenders.”

“We?” 

She doesn’t roll her eyes, but Galo feels the mild irritation in her voice anyway. “Yes, _we._ I need you to be there and look pretty and non-threatening, and I will do the rest.”

Galo looks again at the people on the other side of the room. They look even worse now. “And if I don't?”

“Then just give up the whole damn case, why don’t you.” Her nails dig into his arm and he almost winces. “Our whole line of attack can collapse at any moment. Fishing out some info will do us good. In the worst case, we will just look nice and maybe play at the pity party later.”

He really wants to tell her to fuck off, her and the whole damn court that doesn’t seem to understand that trying to eliminate life on Earth is, indeed, quite _not good_. 

But he can’t. Not now. She doesn’t say it, but Galo knows half of this mess, if not all, came to be because he was stupid enough to let it happen. It’s his responsibility to deal with it. Even if he really, _really_ doesn’t want to.

Galo sighs. “All right. I’m not promising anything, though.”

“You don’t need to.” She tugs him along, and the people stop talking when they approach. Of course. Nothing is ever that easy.

“Good morning. Tanya Emerson.” Tanya smiles and pushes forward her business card into the hand of the closest person, a man who eyes her with polite suspicion. “I believe I don’t need to introduce Mr. Thymos here.”

A woman in a white suit takes half a step back, allowing them to join. Tanya lounges in there, pulling Galo with her. People are staring at them, both at Galo and the way she holds his arm, and Galo wants nothing more than to shake her away. 

A group consists of four people, each of them looking more bitchy than the other: a man in a grey suit, a middle-aged woman with a red necklace that looks like it must have cost a small fortune as it gleams on her white top, a rather timid looking young man twiddling with his thumbs and probably hoping he could be anywhere else, and another man, this time with a white suit with a golden finish that eerily reminds Galo of the one Kray likes to wear. 

Galo really hopes he won’t have to remember all of their names.

The necklace woman’s expression is stone cold. “Ah, yes. I do believe we have heard quite a lot about Mr. Thymos.”

“Good things, I hope.” Tanya sends her a big smile. The woman doesn’t smile back.

“Mostly, how to put it, _interesting_ things.” The man who took the card before - grey suit one - has a timbre in his voice that somehow grates at Galo’s nerves. 

Galo opens his mouth, but Tanya is quicker, her grip tightening on him for a second. “Oh, Galo is an interesting man alright.” A small laugh. “He has so many stories to tell about the Governor!”

“Without a doubt.” The man in the golden-white abomination of a clothing glances at Galo with a shade of curiosity in his eyes. “You two were close, after all.”

The way he says it makes Galo’s stomach turn. Of course, everyone knows that - it would be kind of hard to try to pretend that Galo hadn’t been following Kray around for ages. But in the end he stood against him and fought for what is right, with Lio at his side. Shouldn’t that be more important? 

It all would be better if Lio was here. Even with the trial going to shit, he would know exactly what to say to move the hearts of people and make them understand, even those pricks working for Kray. He would tell them about all the injustice, the pain, the cruelty, show the scars that he still tries to hide whenever he catches Galo's look.

But Lio isn’t here and, even without anyone saying it, Galo’s mind can’t cast away the thought that he might not come back. It’s as if fate itself is denying him, thwarting all the plans and crushing any sparks of hope that still show up from time to time.

The man can be out of Promepolis by now, and Lio with him, and Galo would never know.

“You could say that,” Galo says, and hopes that the smile he forces on his face doesn’t look as forced as it feels.

“Let’s hope we will fix this little miscommunication and go back to normal soon.” Tanya doesn’t try to step on his foot, so he decides he passed the test and stops twisting his face.

“Indeed.” The man in white doesn’t as much as glance at Tanya, firmly locked on Galo. Everyone is, probably - but this one makes Galo uncomfortable, the feeling rising from his abdomen all the way to his mouth like a vomit.

The man must know it, because he keeps staring. “Without a proper leadership, I doubt Promepolis’s future can be bright.”

“I agree,” Tanya chips in with that cheerful voice no one appreciates nor wants. “I hear that there will be an election arranged soon, correct?”

“Yes.” The woman tucks a stray strand of hair that has fallen out of her perfect bun, and Galo is pretty sure she allows it to be there on purpose so she can show off all the big, glimmering stones on her wrists and in her earrings. “Though I suppose that when we fix this, as you said it, _miscommunication_ , the results will be obvious.”

They can’t possibly suggest what Galo thinks they’re suggesting. Kray - Kray was in _jail_ , arrested for all the crimes he commited in broad daylight for everyone to see. How can he possibly be allowed in after all that? That’s not possible. That is not happening. 

Tanya speaks before he can collect his thoughts. “I’m sure there are many wonderful candidates fit for our consideration.” 

“Many candidates, yes. Not many fit for the office or with enough strong will to lead.” The man in white pushes something against the man behind him - some papers, Galo sees. The other man doesn’t look up as he grabs them and shoves it into his suitcase. The man in white pays him no mind, still looking straight at Galo, as if he wanted to test just how much of this Galo can take.

“Especially with the current situation.” The man in gray makes a quick glance to the side, as if he was confirming something. Oh. Is he looking for approval? They’re all standing in a circle, so it’s hard to tell, but all those small gestures form a picture, when Galo thinks about it. They are all waiting for the man in white.

All those similarities makes Galo want to choke, especially when the man _still stares at him, does he even blink._

The man puts his hands behind his back. “Like it or not, the ex-Burnish are still an issue, and one that should be not taken lightly. I do hope it will be dealt with soon.”

“What do you mean?” Tanya gives him another squeeze. He doesn’t care. 

The man’s eyes are cold. “They are here without proper citizenship, occupying homes that are not theirs. There are health issues on top of the discomfort some of the legitimate citizens are expressing.”

“That’s because you don’t grant them citizenship, it’s not their fault!” His voice raises just so slightly, and all of them wince just so slightly. Tanya’s nails are digging so hard into his flesh that they might just break skin.

The man is the only one who doesn’t budge. “You should better watch your fiery temper, Mr. Thymos. There are concerns about your loyalties as well. The judge shall rule in favour of the interest of the city, not the man who turns his back to others at the whim of their, ah, _boytoy_.”

Galo wants to murder him. 

Tanya laughs again, but there is a strain in her voice. “Oh, mister, please don’t joke like this!”

The man’s eyes move to Tanya for a second and something like the beginning of a smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “Oh, forgive me. It was inappropriate for me to spread such rumors, especially with Fotia not with us anymore. To which I say, good riddance. You have one less problem on your shoulders now.”

No, Galo doesn’t want to murder him. He wants to destroy the man, tear him limb from limb and watch him scream as he bleeds on the floor.

Lio, crying with his legs forced open, with a mess of black and red where his feet should be. _Good riddance. Not with us._

“I will show you a fucking good riddance.”

The man doesn’t bat an eye, the bastard. “Excuse me, could you speak up?”

“AHAHA!” Tanya steps on Galo’s foot with her high heels and Galo groans before he can stop himself. “Yes, it was a pleasure to speak with you! Thank you very much for your time!” She’s dragging him away before he can kick the man in the shins, so he just sends him a glare and hopes the message gets across. 

Tanya pulls him into the corridor and swirls around with a clack of her shoes. “What the fuck was that?”

She looks furious, mouth pressed into a thin line. 

Galo straightens his back. “He wanted a fight.”

“Of course! He’s supposed to make you slip!” She isn’t yelling, not quite, but is just short of doing that. “Thymos, you already have a shaky reputation, and this is not helping.”

“I don’t care about my reputation.”

“Clearly.” She folds her arms and huffs. “Just give up already, then. Go beat up more people. That will _surely_ not make you look like an unbalanced, anxious, paranoid mess of a person clearly unable to give a trustworthy testimony.”

Galo has something at the tip of his tongue, some cutting remark, something that would make her _understand_ \- and he comes up empty, without the words to express what is twisting in his mind. 

Lio would know.

Tanya huffs again. “Don’t talk to anyone else. Go the fuck home and stay there. I will _try_ to handle everything, thank you very much.”

Galo shrugs. 

She glares at him, and then she’s out in a whirlpool of hair and just a bit too loud footsteps echoing through the corridor. He considers going after her, but that wouldn’t probably help. 

He’s about to fuck it all and make a run for the entrance when someone calls him. “Uh, excuse me.”

A suitcase in hand, eyes cast down, as if he was afraid to even look at Galo. The scared man from before.

Galo relaxes his shoulders. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I…” The man licks his lips, then raises his head and meets Galo’s eyes. Good. Galo smiles back. “Papers. I need you to sign something.”

“From the defenders?”

He nods. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“No problem.” He takes the paper and a pen the man gives him. Well, it shouldn’t be anything too bad. He just needs to read through carefully and ask if anything looks weird. The man looks cooperative enough.

He twiddles with his thumbs again - no, not thumbs. There’s a ring on his fingers, a small, golden band. 

Galo points at it with his pen. “You married?”

The man looks startled for a second, hands freezing, before he looks at Galo again and relaxes his face into a small smile. “Yes. Recently.”

“Oh. Congratulations.” He tries to make sense of the words on the paper, but they are, of course, in some lawyer-speak he doesn’t understand. Tanya really chose the best moment to storm off.

“Yes. My wife is wonderful.” His fingers caress the band and an expression on his face is almost enough for Galo to believe that he might not be a bad guy after all. “She’s waiting home. Doesn’t cook, but it’s alright.”

Lio should be waiting for Galo at home, too. “You’re lucky.”

“Yeah.” Another swirl on his finger. “We’re trying for a child now.”

“Someone has to repopulate the world, huh?” And the pen isn’t writing. Great. 

“My baby girl is so enthusiastic about that, too.” The man looks lost in thought before noticing Galo’s attempts at poking a hole in a document, so he hands him another one. 

Galo gives up and signs the thing anyway. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” The man looks over the paper and puts it back to his suitcase. “Well, then. I am sorry for taking that much of your time.”

“No problem.” Galo smiles again, just a bit strained, and the man reciprocates with the same barely-there tiredness. Social interaction must be too much for them both right now, it seems.

The man excuses himself, and Galo keeps smiling. He rolls his shoulders back, tries to locate a water fountain and gives up. He drives to the station and tries to not see the way all of his friends look at him. He finds some unmarked leftovers in the fridge and even though he recognizes Aina’s kitchenware, all of the not-signed on stuff is free game, so he munches on the tasteless thing that may or may not be pasta. 

He doesn’t think about Lio.

He drinks the water straight out of the tap and thinks he’s going to throw up. He ignores Aina asking him if he’s okay and bolts to the bathroom.

The bright walls are mocking him, and so is his mind, once again a jumbled mess of fragments of pictures and sounds, a chaotic collage that makes him punch against the floor of the stall until he can’t feel his fingers anymore.

He wants to run. He wants to curl into a ball on the cold floor and yell. He wants the food to stop trying to come up from inside of him. He wants to finally not be hungry anymore.

He wants it all to stop. 

The damn smile of that man in white is burned on the inside of his eyelids, cold eyes staring him up and down with that pity without a hint of empathy. The bastard probably would have no qualms about leaving Lio to die, and all of the ex-Burnish with him. He eats out of Kray’s hand and would lick his boots if asked, hell, who’s to say that he isn’t the one who would be fucked up enough to kill the ex-Burnish and force Lio to-

A smile. The hand playing with the ring. _Wife. Babygirl. Home._

No. No, it can’t be. It definitely isn’t. He’s too paranoid, too oversensitive - _the last thing we need, it’s his job, go beat up more people_ -

He can’t just go and accuse the man of kidnapping Lio. He can’t break into his house and check, just to be sure, just to know. He can’t cause another uproar, not after people started whispering behind his back after Gueira went to a check up that Galo has lost his mind, a poor, confused firefighter so engulfed in the web of manipulation and lies that he can’t be trusted anymore. He can’t, he can’t.

It’s not true. It isn’t true.

_But what if._

His hands are shaking as he fishes out the phone from his pockets and almost drops it into the toilet bowl. 

It isn’t true, it can’t be, and so he can’t be blamed if he’s wrong.

* * *

Tanya is reluctant to give him the contact info. He presses anyway, to the point where she gets even more annoyed at him, but she gives it up in the end.

He wonders if he should have called beforehand. Or written a message. Or _something._ It sounds polite and his fingers hover over the green button for a few moments before he arrives at the address he was given before he gives up and puts it back into his pockets.

He will ring the doorbell. He will say hello to the man - Daemon or Damian or whatever it was, and he will ask if he can come in. He will say hello to the wife, no doubt a beauty who will make them tea while Galo tries to spin around some story concerning the papers he got to sign. And then he will leave and feel empty again, but at least he will _know,_ because it seems his brain can’t shut up about the small _possibility._

Someone like that wouldn’t talk to Galo. Wouldn’t flaunt it in his face. He would take Lio and run as far as he can, and then do something that would make Lio never speak up against Kray again, because that’s the goal, and not… something like this.

And, more than anything, Galo is sure that if he meets the person that did _that_ to Lio, he would know. It would show inside his eyes, in the way he carries himself - something that would make Galo realise immediately, make him shake with anger and punish them.

Galo knows all this, and yet something in his mind shifts with unease. Something, something. 

At least it’s not that voice again.

Galo shakes his head and rings the bell at the front.

It's bigger than he thought the man's house would be, but it's in the posh side of the town, so he shouldn't be surprised - the man is on Kray's payroll, after all, and he probably doesn't need to worry about the money. Galo waits a moment, then presses the doorbell again.

Maybe the man needs some time to go downstairs. Or maybe he's out and Galo will have to camp here until he comes back - and his wife, too. If she's always home, why isn't she answering? If everything is normal, okay, just like it should be, then why-

A thud of steps down the stairs. The lock clicks and Galo just barely catches a glimpse of annoyance before the man shifts into a polite surprise. Maybe Galo shouldn't bother him at this time and ring the bell so feverishly.

"Oh, Mr. Thymos. How can I help you?" 

"I..." Think. What was he supposed to say? What was the plan? "I was wondering if you could help me understand an, uh, expression from the document from today."

"I'm afraid I'm a little busy right now." And again, annoyance. Galo really did interrupt something. "It would be best if you could come back later. Preferably tomorrow."

Galo wants to wait. He wants to be nice, nod and smile and met the man later - but that same part of him that made him run here and close to beg Tanya for his addrress is now screaming at him to press on, just to check, just to make sure, because what if-

The man makes a small move like he wants to shut the door and Galo's body moves on its own, lunges forward and grabs the doorframe, forcing himself inside. 

"Sorry," Galo murmurs, and before he can think about anything, he is already running up the stairs.

Where is she? Where is the wife? "Hello?"

She isn't downstairs. If she was, she would open the door. He would hear her. Which means, she must be here, in one of the rooms-

First door on the left. Bathroom. Second one, an empty study. Third one-

A bedroom with a person on the bed, naked, only covered by a thin veil that cannot be called clothing. 

Their legs are charred and mangled, and they stare at Galo with eyes Galo wouldn't have confused for anyone else's.

"Lio!"

He jumps forward, runs, rushes, and it's Lio, it really is Lio, with his hair strewn on the pillows and oh god-

Lio's eyes stay clouded when he comes closer. Galo tries anyway. "Lio, it's me. Lio, I-"

The creak of the floor is all the warning he gets. It's just enough for Galo's head to snap around before pain explodes through him, through his arm right to the depths of his collarbone.

"Wrong choice, Thymos." The man snarls in Galo's face. 

He's the one. He did it. He is the reason Lio's gaze is unfocused, the fire in them dead, legs mangled and sprawled and-

The pictures. The sounds. The laugh, the humiliation - everything swirls, mingles, and suddenly Galo can't feel the pain anymore. 

He grabs at man's head and pushes back, away from him, and the man flies to the floor with a creak. 

Galo doesn’t care.

He grabs the handle of the knife inside his arm. It doesn’t hurt anymore as he pulls it out. The man tries to get up, but one kick to his face is enough to bring him back to the floor with another crack. The man groans, slithers under Galo’s boot, and Galo shivers. 

He wants to crush him. Destroy him. Crack the ribs and watch the man choke on his own blood as they pierce his lungs, panic in his eyes growing bigger, more desperate. 

So Galo does. 

He brings the knife down and the man yells as the knife scrapes between his ribs, piercing through skin and tendons with ease. It’s harder to pull it out again with man trashing around, so Galo stomps at his face, once, twice, before the blood starts gushing out from what once was a nose. 

The man wails, hands scraping around, grabbing at his face and scratching Galo’s forearms as he brings the knife back down, and down, and down-

 _He deserves it._ Flesh under his hands, wetness spreading over the shirt. _He did this to Lio_. Galo’s hand slips just so slightly, blade lodging itself higher, over the man’s chest. _He took him away and hurt him._ Bloodied face with wide eyes and open mouth, staring at him. _He deserves it, deserves it, deserves it._

And slash, stab, hand slipping, knife prodding at insides. His hands are slipping. He’s panting. His hands hurt.

Galo has never believed in killing. Everyone should have a second chance, even the most repulsive criminals - surely they are just misguided, just need a little bit of help, a nudge in the right direction to understand and repent. No one should have to die.

The man under his hands doesn’t deserve to die. He should be slaughtered. Undone. 

Redemption means so little in the face of Lio, so still, with glass eyes and bloodied thighs.

Galo keeps bringing the knife down, down, down, hands slipping, breath heaving, _he should just die, die-_

Lio whines, and everything stops.

Galo's legs are shaking, but he still stands up and forces them to go to the bed. 

Lio's eyes are as empty as before, but his chest is rising now, up and down, breathing in and out, alive.

Lio is alive. Lio is here. Lio is safe.

Galo's hands are shaking, too, as he finally, finally touches Lio's skin. It's cold.

Lio whines again, a small twitch of his muscles under Galo's fingertips. 

"It's alright," Galo hears himself say. "It's okay now. I got you. I got you, Lio."

Lio stares at the ceiling with the same face as Galo puts his hands under his shoulders and hoists him up as carefully as he can. It would be best if he could grab at Lio's legs, too, but they are-

The smell of open, festering flesh. The scraping of the charred skin against Galo's fingers. It makes him sick. 

Not Lio - Lio could never make him sick - but the thought that it was done to him, the suffering, the pain-

"I got you. I got you, Lio."

Galo looks down, at the space between Lio’s legs he only caught a glimpse of before quickly moving elsewhere. There’s blood, of course, but there’s also something stuck down there, just like in the video. But then, Galo could pretend like it was a one-time thing. Like Lio is not forced to take it every second Galo spent loitering and doing absolutely nothing. 

Lio’s legs twitch as Galo reaches down and grabs the rubber circle flush against Lio’s ass. 

“I’m sorry,” Galo mutters, and he pulls.

The sound alone is enough for him to gag, a wet, disgusting squelch, and it’s before he sees how Lio’s asshole struggles and contracts to let it out, too big, too thick, way too wide for his small body to take it-

And yet he did, and now Galo sees how it forces it out, little by little. It takes an eternity, too long, _how big is this thing?_

Once, Galo would fantasize about a thing like this. Once, Galo would steal a glance at Lio while they’re laying on the sofa and absent-mindedly wonder if they could ever do it, would Lio be comfortable, would he like it. 

Now he just wants to cry. 

Lio’s shivering like he has a fever when it finally slips out, slick and wet and absolutely disgusting. His chest ripples, sharp, quick and out-of-rhythm breaths, and his hands are gripping the covers so hard his knuckles turn white. 

And his lips are moving, shaking, but moving, and-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” Lio’s thighs shake, like if he wanted to push them together, but he’s too weak, too tired. 

Galo watches as his stomach clenches again, and something leaks out of Lio, weak and then all at once, a steady stream of something sticky and white and-

Galo knows that particular fluid well. 

Lio is sobbing. “I’m so sorry, sorry-”

It’s so much. It was all inside of him up until a moment ago, held in place by that plug. And it looks fresh. Too fresh.

Galo wants to throw up. He wants to, but he can’t, not with Lio here sobbing, crying, terrified and in desperate need for medical attention Galo can’t give him. He can’t give Lio his fire back, press his own lips to Lio’s again and fix everything that needs to be fixed.

He swallows the bitterness in his mouth and as delicate as he can, he makes Lio sit.

Lio gasps against his chest, quick, sharp breaths. His hands are cold, too, as he pushes them against Galo, so weak, so small.

His lips move even when his expression stays the same. "No. Please, no."

"I got you, Lio. It's me. I'm here." He grabs a sheet that looks mostly clean and wraps it around Lio’s small body. The least he can do for his dignity.

Lio looks so fragile, so terrified, the sheets drowning him. "N-no."

"I will get you home. Let's go home, Lio."

His hair is matted against Galo's face. "Just kill me. Please."

Galo holds tighter, even when Lio tries to squirm, so fragile, battered, but here. "We're going home, Lio."

He grabs at Lio's back and picks him up. Lio slumps in his arms, but his heart beats so quickly against Galo's chest.

Galo changes his grip on him and steps over the mush of flesh and bone that doesn't look like a human anymore.

And they go home.

* * *

The hospital is a mess.

A nurse takes one look at Lio when Galo tries to explain what happened at the reception and calls so many people Galo didn't even know they had so much staff here. He tries to follow them when they roll Lio on the bed and rush him somewhere, but the woman stops him.

"We should get this patched as well," she says, gesturing at his chest, and Galo looks down. Blood. A lot of blood. He isn't sure it's his.

Then the pain comes back like a blunt hit to the face and he only doesn't topple over because the nurse is there to offer her arm.

"See?" She sighs, gestures again, and switches with someone else. Another nurse. “Take him to the ER, will you?”

“It’s not that bad,” Galo says, and almost trips again. Because it isn’t. Lio is much worse, and Galo should be there, with him, and not get a scratch on his chest being fussed over like it’s anything but a flesh wound. 

Everyone ignores him again, and he finds out it’s suddenly hard to walk. Weird. He was able to run with Lio in his arms all the way here, and he doesn’t remember even tiring or stopping once, even when people tried to make him halt. 

He’s brought to a white room and made to sit at one of the beds before someone starts prodding at his chest with something that makes him hiss through clenched teeth.

“Looks like you won’t need stitches,” the person says - maybe the nurse who brought him here, maybe another man. Galo can’t tell. “It will hurt like hell, though. And maybe we will have to immobilize your hand so you won’t flop it around and accidentally open it again.”

“I need it to work.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen, at least for a while.” Another dab of the antiseptic, then something softer, a bandage or something. “Also you lost a shit ton of blood. Not enough to need a transfusion, but take it easy and hydrate properly.”

“Is a nurse supposed to talk like this?”

A weak half-smile. “It’s been a long night.”

“It’s daytime.”

“Is it? I don’t know anymore.”

Weak jokes, but Galo still snorts. He appreciates the effort to distract him, at least.

It all disappears when the nurse from the reception comes in. “All done?”

The man nods. “All yours, ma’am.”

“Good.” She waves her hand and the man shoots Galo one last look before walking out the room. Galo wishes him the best.

The moment the man steps out of the room, all the optimism left at the bottom of Galo’s brain evaporates completely. The nurse sits at the chair in front of Galo and looks at him like she is about to give him her condolences. 

Galo doesn’t like that. “Is Lio okay?”

She blinks, surprised. “So it really is Fotia?”

“Yeah, but- how is he?”

The nurse shifts on the chair. “She is under examination now. We need to-”

“He.” 

“Excuse me?”

“He,” Galo says again. “Lio is a man.” 

The nurse blinks again. “Sorry, I was under the impression- I assumed-”

“You assumed wrong.” He won’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is- “Just tell me if he’s okay.”

The nurse shoots him another long look, but she nods. “He’s… Well. He’s very clearly drugged and abused. We’re moving him to surgery the moment his blood clears up and all the stimulants get out of his system.”

“Stimulants? But…” But Lio was not, well, _stimulated_. He was dazed and confused and his body was too heavy and immobile, like he couldn’t move even the parts he should.

“Some mix of MDMA and ketamine, we suspect. And his hormonal levels - they are all over the place, too, and from your response I assume it was not taken by his choice. How long has he been like this?”

“You don’t know? I think everyone here has heard it at some point.” He tried not to listen to it himself, but Galo knows Lio’s disappearance was all over the place. 

“Yeah, the media hasn’t been exactly accurate as of lately. I would rather confirm it with you.”

How long _was_ it? From the moment his house burned down it all mixed into one big pile of anxiety and desperation. 

Galo glances at the callendar at the wall. “Almost… Almost two weeks, I think.”

“Well, Mr. Fotia shows signs of being on hormonal therapy like a person half a year in would, or more.” The woman huffs and ruffles her hair, impatiently - Galo can’t tell if it’s because of him or the contradicting data. Maybe both.

He doesn’t exactly care. The only thing he wants is for Lio to be safe and healthy, and to smile at him again.

"Fucking experimental drugs," the woman murmurs. "Without the Foundation, all their stuff is getting all over the place."

“But- will he be _fine?_ ”

The woman furrows her brows and suddenly, her voice becomes harsher. “What do you exactly mean by ‘fine,’ Mr. Thymos? His feet are all but gone, not to mention that the open broken bone on his leg is all but festering and shows no signs of being anything but a big infestation at this point, and he has quite obviously been raped more than once. So, yes, he will be fine, in the sense that he will be alive. But I can’t vouch for much more.”

Galo could have been slapped and it would hurt much less than this. He could be stabbed again. He would prefer stabbing. 

The nurse huffs and massages her temples. “For fuck’s sake. He’s the worst we've had all week.”

“Week?”

She looks at Galo with the same exhaustion he has seen in the mirror. “If you haven’t noticed, as the media definitely did not, ex-Burnish aren’t doing so hot right now. And we only know of a fraction of those who are actually taken here instead of left to die in a ditch.”

Galo shouldn’t be surprised at this. All signs point to this, all the animosity still prevalent in the city, the dark shades in Meis and Gueira’s eyes, the fire that burned inside Lio as he tried again and again to talk to people of Promepolis - all this should make it obvious to Galo that their fight is far from over. And yet, it still hurts.

Lio is just one person. Lio, with the darkness in his eyes, the lifeless body - he’s just one part, one victim. The murders, assults - how many were there when Galo was so preoccupied with Lio? How many did he not notice, even though those people suffered as much as Lio?

Lio would not want this. Lio will be disgusted with him, will look at him with disappointment and not say a word. Because Galo still doesn’t understand. 

The nurse sighs. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do for you, Mr. Thymos. Go home and rest.”

“But-”

“No buts. You cannot help Mr. Fotia as it stands now. We will contact you as soon as possible, but for now he won’t be in a position to notice your presence, much less benefit from it. And we are not taking an unaffiliated person into the emergency room.”

“I’m not unaffiliated. Lio is my…” And here it is again. Why can’t he answer? Why is it so hard to put into words what he feels for Lio? _He’s important. He’s my fire. He’s the reason why I could wake up at all for the past two weeks. He’s the person I want to make a place with._

The nurse shakes her head. “Go home, Mr. Thymos.”

Galo’s heart sinks. But he does.

* * *

The ceiling is different. That’s the first thing Lio notices. That and the fact that he _knows_ it’s different without making his brain focus. 

Then he looks down and suddenly, it’s all worse. 

He’s in a green hospital gown, with so many tubes coming out his arms, and it’s like the Burnish he saw when they were trying to break them out of the Foundation, weak and sluggish because of all the poison inside them. And even worse - that means Lio is out, and if he’s out, then the man has no reason not to hurt even more Burnish, no, Lio has to come back, he has to be a good girl, he has to-

The machine next to him beeps, loud, high noises piercing into the bottom of his skull, and he tries to sit up to give it a whack and _shut it up._

And he can’t. Something is wrong with his body, the weight is where it isn’t supposed to be and lacks where it has always been, down, below his knees, _something’s wrong, something is-_

The doors at his side open without a sound, but the steps Lio hears are loud and clear. 

“Hello, Mr. Fotia.” The woman smiles, sickly sweet and definitely false. She comes to the beeping machine and takes a look at it; Lio notices just a fraction of a second where her eyes go wide, but she hides it immediately, back into staring and smiling at Lio. “Do you know where you are?”

_Foresight Foundation. His home. Babygirl, it’s your home, too-_

“A… hospital, I think?”

The woman nods. If she keeps smiling like this, she will get her muscles stuck in this position forever with how she’s straining them. 

“Do you know who you are?”

“You just told me.”

Her face just barely twitches. “Could you do me a favour and remind me?”

He sighs. “It’s Lio Fotia.”

“Oh, great! Nice to meet you, Lio.”

If she’s going to keep up this babytalk, Lio is going to go insane. “Where am I, though? What happened?”

At that, the woman seems to tense up. Oh fuck, he was right, they would never let him go, it’s just another sick game of the Foundation or the man and he needs to run, go-

The machine starts to beep again, but this time Lio does not wait for the woman to stop it. He grabs at the tubes coming into his arm and _pulls._

The pain is almost unnoticeable, even as his arm grows numb and the blood drips down his elbow, and he can hear the woman scream. He can’t waste time, can’t loiter, so he doesn’t look at her, only throw the covers away and puts his legs on the-

His legs. He doesn’t-

His right leg, down where the ankle is supposed to be, where his foot should be - there _isn’t one,_ only a stump of bandages too small to cover his foot. And yet, it’s still better than the left. 

Down his knee there’s nothing, only pain and bandages, and _he can’t run._

It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like his body. It can’t be his body, because Lio has legs, doesn’t have those lumps of flesh grown like a tumor on his chest, disgusting, overwhelming. It isn’t him, it can’t be him, and yet he’s stuck, mangled and broken like a doll with arms ripped off, squirming like a spider without legs.

The woman screams again and the sharp sound throws Lio off. No, he can’t think about this; he has to go, even if he has to crawl, before anyone sees him trying to get away and tries to stop him. 

He tries to find some leverage on the stumps that once were his feet and the pain paralyses him immediately; he falls to the floor, face-first, and he can just barely register the red that starts to spread on the bandages. His arm are too weak to support him, too, one wrist wrapped in something that makes him unable to move it, but he has to, so he grits his teeth and pulls himself forward, _the stench of piss and rot, concrete under his arms, he has to go, the man will return soon, he has to._

The door swings open and someone comes in, and the world shatters. 

_no no no he’s here he’s here no no NO_

He doesn’t know what’s going on after that. He hears screaming again, and he starts to feel someone’s hands on him, too strong to fight off, and then there’s nothing. 

When he wakes up again, there are more people in the room. A nurse, not one Lio has seen before. Another one checking on that machine. And…

“Boss!”

Meis and Gueira rush to him, and Lio flinches. They take their hands back immediately.

“Sorry, Boss.” Gueira smiles, strained but real, and pulls one of the folded chairs propped on the side. Meis does the same at the other side, and they’re here, they’re real. 

Lio tries to smile. “Hello.”

“Welcome back,” Meis says, and even though he’s obviously trying to hide it, Lio can see that he’s shaking. Both of them are.

And Lio is, too. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

Gueira sobs. “Don’t say sorry! Why are _you_ sorry, you absolute _bastard,_ you-”

“ _Gueira_.” Meis shoves him over Lio’s bed, and Lio can’t help but laugh. 

Both of them look at him, wide-eyed and startled, and then smile at him again, just like they used to an eternity ago. And for the first time since he has woken up in the darkness of that basement, things are okay again.

It almost is enough for him not to wonder why Galo has not come to see him.

He shrugs the feeling off. 

Lio points at Gueira. “What happened to your face?” 

Gueira rubs against the bruise against his cheekbone. “Oh, this? Nah, it’s nothing. Just a squabble with your loverboy.”

Meis shoves him again, but this time it’s harsher, without the playfulness. Lio furrows his brows.

“Okay, what happened?”

“Seriously, it’s nothing.” Gueira laughs, but it’s strained, forced, and Lio doesn’t fall for it for a second.

“Gueira.” He hates using that tone, but their reaction is immediate; they straighten up at attention, as always when he uses that commanding tone. “Tell me.”

Gueira sends one look to the side, and Meis nods. 

Gueira gulps, and then tries to smile again. “Thymos got… Uh.”

Meis chuckles, humorless. “Insane.”

“He hit you?”

Gueira shifts in his chair. “For the record, I _really_ think you should hear it from him, Boss.”

Oh, he’s not going to like it, is he? What could Galo possibly do to make both of them so uneasy? “Just tell me.”

Gueira opens his mouth - and then shuts again. 

Meis rolls his eyes. “He made a deal with Kray and right now, Kray is out.”

Something rings in Lio’s ears. It’s impossible. Galo has changed, he would not go back to Kray, he’s not that kind of a person.

But he isn’t here, is he? And Meis and Gueira are. 

_He isn’t looking. He’s given up._

Lio shudders - and immediately forces himself to stop. “What about the trial?”

“Unknown,” Meis says. “Though it is not hard to imagine that with Thymos’s testimony all but thrown away and with Foresight on the loose, it’s not going to be pretty.”

His mind is swirling. It’s all a jumbled mess, just like before, and he can feel himself slipping, little by little, he can’t think, he can’t move, he can’t breathe-

“Boss?”

Meis and Gueira are here, but they seem so far away, just like those illusions in front of his eyes he thought he saw when he was all alone in the basement, crying and vomiting and yelling in pain, he’s there again, he has to be, he-

“BOSS!”

Hands on him again, digging, ripping into his flesh, putting him flat against the bed, spreading his legs open, not again, he can’t take it again, he would rather die.

He spirals down, down into the breathless darkness, and there is no one to catch him.

* * *

Lio looks at the face in the mirror and doesn’t recognize it.

He knows it’s him. It has to be, and yet it’s like he has been switched with someone, given a body that is not his on accident. Sunken eyes, too dark. Hair ruffled, just a bit longer than he remembers it. Mouth with small cracks on the corners, barely healed, still stinging.

It isn’t the worst part, though. He has never cared much for his face. He could be hideous, if that would bring attention to what he was saying, and he wouldn’t care. This… this is different.

His arms have always been narrow, small and not imposing at all unless he wore those shoulder pads that made him look ridiculous. Almost feminine. Now his chest is heavy as he breathes, red lines covering the bumps around his nipples. Breasts. They make him slump forward and they hurt as he bumps them every time he moves. He wants to reach and tear them off, but even a slight touch is enough for him to wince.

But his hips are too slim, too thin to be a woman's. His thighs are fatter, but they do nothing to make his figure more broad. And between his legs - well. He knows what a penis looks like.

He knows all too well.

So he’s not a woman, but not a man, either. He’s nothing. He’s just a disgusting imitation of both.

The nurses struggle to address him, too. He notices, even when they try so hard to appear as if nothing is wrong. Like they aren’t as repulsed by Lio’s body as he is. One nurse in particular doesn't seem to have any reservations about staring at him openly, even when she catches him looking back. She's blonde and short and carries herself with that particular way that makes Lio just know that she has never had to go hungry in her life.

He hates her immediately, even before she calls him “miss” and off-handedly tries to suggest he wears a bra.

He tells her to fuck off.

Meis and Gueira come again. Well, more like left for a moment and then came back again - they seem to spend more time with Lio than without him, and Lio appreciates it more that he can say.

"Brought you something." Meis dangles the big plastic bag in front of him. Behind him, Gueira comes holding two more, and Lio raises his brows.

"It looks much more than just 'something.'"

"Some people wanted you to have this stuff. We tried to tell them not to, but it's only so much we can do." Meis shrugs and pulls out a big bar of chocolate. It looks kind of cheap and battered, and it's enough for Lio to tell who it might be from.

"But- the settlement needs it more!" He tries to push Meis's hand back, but Meis only shakes his head and puts it on the nightstand anyway. 

"Yeah, that's what we said, too. But everyone wanted to give you something, no matter how small." He pulls something else, a bright pink card with crayon drawings on it, and Lio's heart melts. In big, childlike letters on the front he sees something that might be 'GeT WEll sOoN'. He appreciates the gesture anyway.

"This one is quite big, have a go at it." Gueira throws his something and Lio just barely catches it with his one hand.

"Nice," Meis says, grinning as always, and Lio blinks.

It's a plush. The texture is nothing like the harsh sheets he's laying on or the paper-thin semi-smoothnes of the hospital gown; it's clearly worn down and well-loved, with buttons for eyes and just barely matching patches. It's clearly been loved, fixed again and again, hugged so much the material started to wear down on the seams. On its belly, Lio can just barely make out the embroidered words: Mr. Plush.

It's the most beautiful dragon plush he has ever seen. 

He holds it close to his chest and Meis and Gueira laugh. 

"See, I told you he will like that one." Gueira shoves Meis playfully. 

"Why so much?" Lio pets the plush as he talks, and the smiles linger on their faces for a moment longer before they straighten up, like before when they had to discuss their strategy in the desert.

Meis shrugs. "We went back today, and it seems the news has spread. The town already knows, it seems, though we had to answer a lot."

"Like if you're even alive." Gueira opens the chocolate and takes a bite. Lio doesn't stop him.

"Anyway." Meis snatches the chocolate out of Gueira's hands. "The thing is, people talk. And mostly, they talk about the fact that you are in a hospital, and not one reporter was allowed to see you despite their oh-so-desperate pleas. That got people to speculate."

"Which is not good, I suppose?"

"Not even remotely. The last I checked you were insane and somehow got your Promare back. Also planning to incinerate the city again.”

“They’re not going to let that one go, huh?” Gueira makes a lunge for it, but Meis is quicker, and the chocolate stays out of Gueira’s grabby hands. A chunk falls to the floor and Gueira sends Meis a glare before diving in and devouring it. Well, five second rule probably applies, Lio supposes, trying not to crack a smile again.

All these goods - flowers, chocolate, cards, even a plush - it all brings a smile to his lips. His people still remember him, even if he isn’t needed anymore. Even if he’s… this.

Meis and Gueira must see it, how he’s changed, the pitiful state he’s in, but they still treat him the same. He’s still their Boss. 

He loves them for it. 

But this brings a question, one that Lio did not know would ever arise. If everyone knows… Where is Galo?

_He saw your body. Saw what he did to you. He saw it and was disgusted and you will never see him again, that’s what you deserve, you’re worthless and he knows it. He would rather go back to Kray than see you again._

No. It’s not true. Lio refuses to believe it. Then again, he can’t bring himself to ask Meis or Gueira about it either. 

He shouldn’t be afraid of what he can hear if he did.


	7. Chapter 7

He really means to go see Lio. He really does. It’s just… the time doesn’t feel right, and there’s so much to do…

_Excuses._

Tanya hits him over his head with a stack of papers. “You listening?”

Galo really would like it if she didn’t force herself into their station so often. It makes sense, all things considered - everyone here can be a witness, and it’s not like Galo will go anywhere else. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Especially with the way she sits just a little too close for comfort.

He leans away. “No.”

“Great start, then.” She looks disapprovingly at the wrinkle on the documents, as if it was Galo’s fault that she decided to whack him. “Keep it up and we will surely win this.”

Galo shrugs. Lio should have woken up by now. He saw the number of the hospital on his phone, so they did try to contact him, at least. Meis and Gueira are also not here. They are probably at Lio’s side as they speak, worrying over him and keeping him company and doing all other things Galo is supposed to be doing.

He will go visit. Eventually. After this is over. Now it just doesn’t feel right, for some reason. It’s enough to know that Lio is okay. He has to be with his friends next to him. Is he eating right? What about his legs? Did they give him some decent clothes? And did he tell anyone what happened?

Tanya looks at him with the same tired disapproval as always. “You do remember I’m doing this as charity work, right? If you want to ignore me, at least pay me.”

Galo sighs. "And what exactly do you want out of this?"

"Nothing much." She shrugs. Galo doesn’t like the smile that appears on her face. "Let's say… a dinner date?"

Galo sighs again. "Can't I just pay you in cash? You know, like for a normal lawyer?"

"Ouch. So cold." She stops grinning, but there’s no malice in her expression. At least that, Galo supposes. If she was mean at the top of - whatever this is, he would probably not be able to handle her. Not that he is now, mind you. 

“So, as I was saying.” Tanya coughs theatrically. “Foresight did hire the best of the best. Not to mention that he was the one who implemented the law used here in the first place. He knows what he needs to do to win, and now, with your weakened testimony…”

“We are fucked?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Fotia is still out there. _He_ can give testimony, and if it’s enough to fit with the popular opinion, I think there is a chance the judge would take our side.” She swirls a pen between her fingers. “Though we don’t know how long it’ll be ‘till he can do that. I doubt that he has recovered enough in two days.”

“He’s strong.”

Tanya raises her brows. “No matter how strong he is, I’m sure he’s not yet able to go to a court. Also I suppose his mental state is a mess, too.”

Galo looks at her, ready to snap something back - but she’s not smiling, not a hint of amusement in her eyes. 

She has seen what happened to Lio. What kept happening. And, Galo hates to admit, she’s smart enough to predict things accurately, even if she’s an ass about it. Kind of like Lucia, in a way, except Lucia has not tried to jump him when he was drunk even once. 

He tries not to think about it. “So we have to manage without Lio.”

“I suppose so, yes.” Tanya goes through the pile of papers again, looking for something no doubt super important that Galo will need help with when her phone goes off. 

Tanya shoots a look at the screen and clicks her tongue. “Will be right back.”

She bolts to the bathroom and Galo can just barely make out her voice. He doesn’t try to listen.

He looks at the papers and goes over one just to make sure that, yes, he still doesn’t understand shit, but Lio probably would, does Lio have any books to read or is he just satisfied being with his generals-

“You look like shit.” Aina sits next to him and squints at the documents. Good to see that not only he has no idea what this is. 

“I feel like you’ve said it before.” 

“Well, one would think that you would look less like a spat out rug when you’ve finally found Lio.”

To be honest, he thought that, too. But he also thought that he and Lio would be safe and get a break, so here’s that. 

“You should go see him,” Aina says, and Galo wants to throw the stack of papers in her face.

“I will. After it’s over.”

She presses her lips together. “You’re always waiting, you know that? Wouldn’t it be better to just do it and-”

“No.” He doesn’t know why his voice comes out so angry, or why does what she is saying hurt so much. But it does. 

Aina opens her mouth and the bathroom doors all but slam into the wall. The sound of heels is louder than Galo has ever heard, and when Tanya hovers over him he’s sure she’s going to burst into flames.

“Would you care to explain why one of Foresight’s defenders has been missing?” she hisses. “The one that you _begged_ for an address of, if I do recall correctly?” 

“I-”

Her heels clack on the wall, quick, impatient taps. “No, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Frankly, I don’t care.” She straightens her back. “The trial date has been revealed. It’s tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?! But-”

“They can absolutely do that. It was deemed that _someone_ might have been trying to interfere, and so, the defenders petitioned hurrying it up. It was accepted.” 

Aina looks between them and she looks as confused as Galo is, though not even half as guilty. 

She doesn’t know, probably. Galo has not said a word about how he had found Lio, and they did not ask, probably because of how defensive he was last time. It’s both a blessing and a curse, honestly - but Galo would rather shoulder it all alone than see their faces if he told them what he did.

The bastard deserved it, and Galo knows it. Lio knows it. They all do. _Someone_ has to know what he did, because wouldn’t someone check the man’s house? And if so, wouldn’t they have found the body and be able to link it to him?

So many questions. So many answers he will not hear. Especially with the new threat hanging over their heads. 

He tries not to look at Tanya’s face. “Then, what do we do?”

“They wouldn’t have set the date so early if they weren’t sure Foresight would win. So, yes. Just as you have brilliantly put it in words before, we are fucked.”

Aina shifts next to Galo. “Can’t we get Lio, then?”

Tanya clicks her tongue. “As I just fucking said, we cannot. He is not only not an official citizen, thus invalid to give testimony, but also, if you haven’t noticed, hospitalized and I wouldn’t trust his mental stability for shit.”

“You don’t know that!” Why is his voice rising? Why does it hurt to think that Lio can be safe, and yet not okay at all?

_What do you mean by ‘fine,’ Mr Thymos?_

Lio should be fine. Safe. And Galo should be the one to protect him, watch over everything when Lio couldn’t. And somehow, Galo has managed to fail at every one of those things. 

Tanya shakes her head and massages her temples. “I’m going to call in as many favors as I can now. But so help me, you better have some miracle dick, Thymos, or I’m leaving you broke.”

She storms off with her heels tring to pierce through the concrete wall. 

Aina looks at Galo with even more confusion than before. “Did I miss something?”

Galo groans. “For the love of god, please shut up.”

* * *

They’re losing. Badly. 

Galo would have known this even without Tanya swearing under her breath next to him. The relaxed smile on Kray’s face is more than enough, even without an army of his lawyers seemingly occupying more than half of the courtroom. 

_At least the bastard from before isn’t here,_ Galo thinks with grim satisfaction. He’s where he’s supposed to be, rotting in his house or three meters underground. 

That doesn’t mean he’s happy, though. Not even close.

They have not slept today, and maybe that’s a part of why it’s turning as bad as it is. Galo needed to be called twice before Tanya almost shoved him out of his chair and he scrambled to the place before the judge to testify. Well, it wasn’t much of a testimony - the judge had asked his name, made him promise on the honor of Promepolis that he would answer truthfully - _honor of Promepolis,_ dammit - and then asked if the one he submitted to the court still stands. 

Galo did not submit a thing to the court. Behind him Tanya tried to pantomime something that could mean she’s about to barf or something else, so Galo said yes. 

Tanya looked at him like she wanted to murder him, and that was that.

All things considered, it could have been worse, but it would probably need another World Blaze to even it out. Or just continue, Galo supposes. It won’t be long. 

From the other side of the room Kray smiles, the same neutral smile he did for the cameras when he was the Governor. He’s not in his prison clothes, changed for his white suit with the insignia of Promepolis, and Galo wants to yell how dare he still wear it, after all he did, after leaving them to _die_ , but he knows better than to do it. It makes him think it’d be better if he spent more time on getting himself into a presentable state, but none of them had the time. Neither he nor Tanya have slept, but she has experience with that kind of thing. 

Galo has none. 

The man in the white suit, one Galo has met earlier, seems to be the one in charge. He speaks a lot, though he says little, at least not something Galo can understand. Bastard probably knows it. The only things he speaks clearly about are the insults.

If he keeps it up, Galo is going to throw him out of the window. 

The man has the same mildly polite expression as Kray does, but his voice is unwavering. “May I request calling Mr. Thymos as a witness? I have questions about his earlier testimony that require clarification.”

“Of course you fucking do,” Tanya says through gritted teeth. “Fuck, fuck-”

“What- what am I supposed to do?”

“You may. Mr. Thymos, please approach the-”

“ _Tanya_ , what do I-”

Tanya groans and resumes eating the tip of her pen. It’s more of a mangled plastic stick at this point. “Fucking go and don’t fuck it up.” 

And he’s on his own again. Great.

He stands where he’s been told to and wonders if the courtroom is made specifically so that he feels small and insignificant as he tilts his head and looks at the jury. Galo doesn’t recognize him, probably never spoke with him, but he has a nagging feeling that he is - or was - under Kray’s thumb for a long while, seeing as he stares Galo down. Was he a part of those who were invited to the Parnassus? How in hell is he allowed to judge this?

Another smile dripping with sickly sweet poison. “Mr. Thymos. I would like to now address the subject of your relationship with Mr. Fotia. Were you familiar before the incident with Parnassus took place?”

Galo shrugs. “I think everyone knew of Lio, uh, Mr. Fotia, and I-”

“Simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice, thank you.” Whatever the man is trying to do is probably not good, but it’s not like Galo can actually stop him. 

He grits his teeth. “No.”

“Then, you admit you have known Mr. Fotia for, ah, just close to two months time?”

“Yes.” What is he trying to prove? Galo isn’t lying, but suddenly telling the truth doesn’t seem like such a good idea, either. 

“And if I may be so bold, would you say that you find Mr. Fotia… attractive?”

What?

“Objection,” Tanya all but growls from her seat. “This has no relevance to the trial.”

The man doesn’t bat an eye. “I disagree. There is evidence to support that Mr. Thymos’s testimony might not be impartial.”

“Overruled. Mr. Turner, you may continue, but rephrase the question.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” No, it’s not supposed to be like this; they’re arguing about Kray, about what he most certainly did, the whole city saw it, not Lio, not-

“Then, Mr. Thymos.” It’s a grin now, full of self-satisfaction and other things that make Galo want to jump over the desks and punch the man flat in the face. “Before the Parnassus incident, you were a model citizen, loyal to Governor Foresight to the fault, is that correct?”

Galo looks at Tanya, searching for something, anything that would tell him what to do, but she’s glaring at the man like she hopes he would drop dead just from that. Well, that isn’t helping. 

“I… was loyal to Kray, uh, Governor Foresight, yes.” The words feel heavy on his tongue. But no matter how much he hates them, he can’t deny it - he was under Kray’s thumb for so long, and back then, it felt natural. It felt right.

“And so, you have changed your allegiances shortly after you met Mr. Fotia, correct?”

“Not because of Lio! I saw what Kray was doing, and it was wrong-”

The man tilts his head. “Yes or no, Mr. Thymos.” 

His stupid, fucking head, Galo could just- “Yes.”

“And after the incident Mr. Fotia has moved into your household, am I right?”

“Yes, but-” _But Lio had nowhere to go,_ Galo wants to say. But it’s not true, is it? Lio could have gone and chosen to live with Meis and Gueira instead, and yet it felt natural that he and Galo would live together. That they would wake up at the same time and make breakfast together and joke about work and small things.

The man raises his brows. “Taking all those things into consideration, what would you describe your relationship with Mr. Fotia as?”

“Lio-” Why is he getting choked up _now_? He knew they could ask him that, he knew what he should answer, and yet it still feels wrong, as if he is tarnishing Lio’s reputation. As if whatever he says will be wrong. 

“Lio saved my life,” he hears himself say. “And I saved his.”

“Is that so.” The man tilts his head. “It makes one wonder why, exactly, would such closeness be born in that short amount of time.”

“Well, two months ago the world almost got destroyed, so I say it isn’t exactly the most surprising one.”

“I will mark the answer as non-responsive.”

“Objection. The question was improperly formed.”

“Sustained. Mr. Turner, please rephrase the question or conclude.”

“Considering Mr. Thymos’s relationship with Mr. Fotia and his recent instability, all in all we consider that Mr. Thymos seems to be incapable of providing testimony that is impartial and could be used in court. We thus inquire the judge to reconsider the use of Mr. Thymos’s words as evidence, unreliable as it is proven.”

“Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence and hearsay.”

They’re losing, Galo realises again. Kray will walk out of the room with barely a slap on the wrist as his punishment, and Galo can’t do a thing. 

Kray has said he’s sorry. Galo knows he’s not. He still remembers the hatred, insanity in Kray’s eyes as he looked Galo in the eyes and told him to _just die already._ He wanted to be the hero, and he was ready to step on a pile of corpses on his way to greatness. All the people here must know this - there’s no one stupid enough to fall for that anymore - and yet they still argue as if they really believed that Kray was acting in the best interest of everyone, a bit misguided, but with the good of humanity at heart.

Galo has argued about that with Lio before. _You can’t kill him; he needs to go to trial. He will be punished, Lio, I know it._

_What if not? What then?_

Galo hasn’t had an answer then, but he might just have it now. The blood on his hands still hasn’t dried properly, dried under his fingernails and seeping into his skin, and Galo is sure it will never go away completely, won’t let him forget.

He might just as well get his hands dirty again. It’s the least he can do for Lio. 

The defendant smirks. “I think there is enough evidence to support my claim, and so-”

A thud, a muffled shout in the distance. Galo turns around, judge be damned. Another thud, as if someone was trying to force the door open. Shit, is someone trying to disrupt the trial? Break Kray out? Would Kray orchestrate another coup just to be sure he gets to walk out of here victorious? Something is going on, where is his gun-

The doors slam open and the court falls into silence more heavy than before.

Meis and Gueira stand on the both sides of the wheelchair, hands on the handles, eyes scanning the crowd with the same determination they did when Galo first saw them.

And in the middle, with a blanket over his legs, and yet with the same presence as when he sprawled his legs on the throne made of flames, sits Lio. 

His hair is too long, eyes dark and the light green of the hospital gown doesn’t match him at all, but it’s still him, unmistakably so, under all this.

One of the guards on the sides shifts uneasily. “Sir, this is a closed trial-”

“Yeah, we noticed, since the door was locked.” Meis stares the man down, and it’s enough for him to waver and step back. 

Galo can feel the atmosphere growing heavier, people whispering around them - no one expected this, no one _allowed_ this, and it’s all too clear for Galo that the guns guards have on them are not the ones with freezing bullets. 

And Lio is defenseless before them.

Galo wants to scream, to run, but the anticipation freezes him in place, unable to do anything but stare as the guards shift their stances and-

Lio moves, and the world stops around him. He doesn’t even glance to the sides at the guards, even though he has to see them, even when he should know that he wouldn’t be able to fight them off with his fire again.

Meis and Gueira follow him half a step behind, but they let Lio move on his own, even though Galo can see that Lio only uses one hand to push himself forward. It must be exhilarating, and if Galo didn’t know him, he would probably not notice the barely-there shaking of Lio’s fingers and his lips pressed into a thin line, either from exertion or pain.

He shouldn’t be here. He should be resting in the hospital, tending to his injuries and _not here,_ not staring at Kray with fire in his eyes and ignoring everyone else, ignoring Galo.

Lio isn’t looking at Galo even when he reaches the podium and Galo steps aside to give him a place. Galo thinks he sees a shade of a smile appear on Lio’s lips, but it’s probably just his own wishful thinking. Lio has no reason to smile at him. 

The room buzzes with murmurs and whispers, and yet it all comes to a halt the second Lio tilts his head up and looks at the judge. 

“I am Lio Fotia.” His voice jumps from the walls, booms with power and echoes in Galo’s ears with the same force it did when Lio had crossed blades with him before the world ended. “It seems that once again justice will not be served unless I am present. Please disregard the state of my dress and physical condition; I assure you that it was not my choice to present myself like this.”

The judge looks shaken as much as everyone in the room, but he’s quick to collect himself. “We did not summon you, Mr. Fotia.”

“And yet here I am. And I’m afraid I will not leave until I am heard out. Properly this time.’

Up close, Galo can see more, the details he tried not to notice when he was running with Lio in his arms. The dark marks on his throat, cuts and burns up his arms, and the unnatural folds of material under his knees, as if one of Lio's legs- as if his feet are not there at all-

And yet, Lio has the same aura about him, the same unyielding presence demanding attention.

“I was unfortunately preoccupied. But no more.” He raises one of his hands - too thin, too fragile, dark marks on his skin not covered by the short sleeves of his gown. “And I have evidence to support that my disappearance was, in fact, orchestrated by the man pretending to repent.”

His fingers point at Kray across the room and Galo wants to cry out when he sees how Lio’s arm is shaking, strained. He should be resting and leave it all to Galo. He should. 

“This is slander!” The man in white raises his voice. “Your Honor, I must demand that this- this _person_ is removed from here before the proceedings are thrown in complete disarray!”

Gueira snaps around with a snarl on his lips, but Meis is quick to grab his arm and stop him before Gueira has a chance to do what Galo wanted to and land a solid blow on the bastard’s face. 

“No. I’m not leaving.” Lio’s eyes are dark and something in his face makes the man snap his mouth shut.

The room explodes into sounds again; whispers, voices, rustle of papers - Galo’s mind drowns in it, circles around as Lio tries to stare down the judge from his wheelchair with the talking rising, morphing into a cacophony that slips inside his brain and leaves nothing but mush and the impression of Lio.

When it gets too much, Galo opens his mouth, and he’s just barely too late.

It’s Kray himself that speaks. “Fotia. _Quiet._ ” 

Lio shudders, just a fraction of a second - and then his face warps and Galo is sure he will burn again, even if just to spite Kray again. 

“I am done with letting you get away with all you did,” Lio spits out, twisting his neck and staring at Kray with so much hate in his face Galo sees again the man he fought together with. “I am the testimony of all your sins, and I will not be quiet. I am not letting you win today, or tomorrow, or ever, for that matter. You planned to get me killed more than once and he allowed the deaths of countless others, now and in the past.” Lio’s voice barely shivers, but it continues, booming through the room. “I knew them all. I protected them all for as long as I could. None of that mattered in the end, at least not for this man. And I will not be quiet about that.” 

Lio gestures and Meis comes closer with a bunch of rumpled papers in his grasp. At that, Kray barely tilts his head, with interest or annoyance, Galo can’t tell.

Lio sneers. “We know that you instructed Daemon Id to kill me, and when he didn’t, you put him up front of your defense team, full knowing that he will come into contact with Galo and get found out. You knew that Galo would be looking for me, you knew that you had to hide your involvement, and you covered your tracks, hoping I would die or get mangled beyond repair along the way. Well, bad news for you. I went to hell and I’m dragging you down with me.”

The man in white snaps back to his feet. “This type of so-called evidence can’t be used in court! It’s all slander to bring down Governor Foresight’s good name!”

Lio snarls. “Good name? He tried to kill us all. He was ready to let you die here and then lie in the face of the ones left. And I don’t care about your play-pretend court. It’s not justice. But I swear if this monster walks out of here free, you will see what true justice looks like.”

“You’re _threatening-_?!”

“Oh, no. I am way past the point of threats. Foresight allowed, if not commanded Daemon Id to kill and torture my people, then turned on me directly. He tried to break me so that I would shut up. And I won’t. I will either see the justice served or I will serve it myself, as I did before, and I will continue to do so as long as it’s needed.” He all but throws the papers at the ground. “Do with this what you may. Prove that you are not as corrupt and broken as you appear to be. Or fall, once again.” He holds his head high and suddenly Galo sees something like a beginning of a smile twisting at the corner of his lips. “I don’t need the fire to burn.”

Meis helps him turn around in his wheelchair. Galo wants to scream, reach out, grab at one of Lio’s arms and hold him, because it’s _Lio_ , because his hands are shaking, because Galo knows he needs it. _Because Lio has not looked at him even once_.

He can do nothing but watch as Lio leaves, again.

* * *

The ride back to the hospital is quiet. 

What Lio just did, what he was through - it’s all so heavy, so delicate, and Galo feels like if he says even one thing out of place everything will collapse and shatter like a tower made of glass. And even this is cowardly as hell, coming so late after all this, even when he could have chased after him in the courtroom and stood together with him instead of just next to him.

Now he looks at the imposing entrance of the Central Promepolis Hospital and tries to come up with anything to say, and as always comes up empty. 

He knows the room Lio is in, so he doesn’t need to ask at the reception, but he does anyway. The woman gives him a tired half-smile of politeness and gives him the direction when he asks for them. The trip through the corridors and flights of stairs is all too short for his liking and he stops in front of the door. And behind them, there is Lio, separated from him by only a wall and less than a meter of distance.

He should wait. He should turn back, actually, and not stand there in front of those doors. Lio doesn’t want to see him and he should respect that, give Lio some space he needs, gods know he should with all the shit that has been done to him.

_You are always waiting._

Galo takes a step back from the door. And then, before he has a chance to change his mind, he lunges towards it and forces it open.

Lio’s head moves as he barges in and for a second Galo freezes.

Lio’s silhouette cuts out sharply against the light behind him, hair sparkling like gold molten on the surface. With his hands in his lap, straight shoulders and head high, he looks different, somehow. Less like the person Galo held shivering in his arms, holding onto him so hard his nails broke skin, and more like-

He looks like he’s burning, Galo realises. The halo around him making a crown of fire, seeping into his skin and marking him as the one with the inferno inside, strong enough to stand against anything and come out victorious.

And Galo loves him.

The world around him spins and suddenly Lio moves in his wheelchair and the moment is broken as the light shifts on his skin and becomes just that - stray sunlight of the sunset.

Galo opens his mouth - and closes it again. 

Lio doesn’t move nor speak. His eyes dart to Galo’s eyes for a fraction of a second before retreating somewhere else, as if Galo wasn’t even worth his attention anymore.

Maybe he isn’t.

He looks at the fingers Lio has in his lap. Are his hands okay now? Is Lio ignoring the pain so that Galo won’t see it? Should he say something? Point it out? Would it hurt Lio’s pride, make him lash out? Anything is better than this silence. Anything.

They will talk. They have to. If ever there was a time to talk, it’s now. 

So why can’t any of them just-

Galo wants to bang his head on the pristine white wall. Maybe that would help him come up with an idea as to what the hell is he supposed to say, or do. 

He opens his mouth again and suddenly, he can’t see clearly anymore. He wipes at his eyes, annoyed, and discovers wetness rolling down his cheeks. 

Galo sucks a breath in, trying to stop his whole body from shaking. “Sorry,” he forces out somehow with a weight crushing his chest, “I- I don’t know-”

Lio’s eyes snap to him, alarmed - and with one look at Galo’s face his frame relaxes. 

The smile that appears on his face is the most beautiful thing Galo has ever seen. 

“I’m home, Galo.” Lio’s hand is so small when it brushes against his fingers. 

Galo can’t control the shaking anymore; everything spills at once, the fear, the hate, worry, guilt, fragments of Lio scattered all over in his mind, all binds together into this moment, with him clutching at Lio’s fingertips at Lio’s feet, crying, really crying for the first time since Lio had been ripped away from him. 

Galo looks up through his blurred eyes and sees the crown back on Lio’s head.

“Welcome home,” he says.

* * *

They stay like that for what feels like forever, and yet not nearly enough. The only thing Galo notices is that when he hears footsteps behind him the light on Lio is reddened and heavy.

The door slams open and Galo doesn’t need to turn around to recognize the sound of those heels.

“In all of my career,” Tanya says, gasping for breath as if she ran all the way here, “I have never seen a trial like this. Well, probably not like they will seriously consider what you brought, at least not in the open, but still, holy shit.”

Galo scrambles to his feet and does his best to not look like he has just been bawling his eyes out.

Lio is far quicker to collect himself. He smiles, but there’s stiffness in his posture again as he looks at Tanya. 

“Excuse my boldness, miss,” Lio says with just a little too much harshness. “May I ask who you are?”

She either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. “Oh, I’m Tanya. I’ve been working with Thymos for quite some time, with the trial and all.” She beams. “And now, I’m his… Well, I think ‘girlfriend’ is a fair way to put it.”

“What?” Galo looks at Tanya and she shrugs with a smile and a wink. He doesn’t like that at all. 

What she did - no. Galo is not going to think about that. It’s over, it will be once this mess is all cleaned up, and then he will never need to see her again. He didn’t- He was-

He looks at Lio, searching for words, and it’s somehow worse. 

Lio freezes, just for a fraction of a second, and then puts on another one of those smiles Galo hates. “Then it's nice to meet you, Tanya.”

It’s not right. It hurts. It’s not like it’s supposed to be. 

“I love you,” Galo blurts out. 

Lio blinks, slowly. “Why are you looking at _me_?”

 _Shit_ , Galo thinks, and then he can’t think anymore. The world shifts, disappears and twists until the only thing Galo can see or feel is Lio, and like that it’s all too easy to just lean in and grab at Lio’s fingers again, long and pale, and then bring them to his lips.

When he pulls back, Lio’s eyes are wide, face red, and he looks like he has just been hit by a truck in the best way possible. Galo hopes it’s the best way possible.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Galo says, and suddenly he feels very dumb and very regretful.

“Y-yeah.” Galo will never get tired of seeing that pretty pink on him. “I think I got that part.”

From the corner of the room Tanya gives them a thumbs up and Galo hates her a bit less. Just a bit. 

“Didn’t expect you to actually be into Fotia.” She shrugs, but she’s still staring at them, sizing Lio up and down. The playfulness from before disappears, replaced by something Galo can’t quite put a finger on, but it’s gone before he can take a closer look.

Tanya folds her arms on her chest. “So it’s true you actually changed sides because of his miracle dick?”

Galo chokes on air. “Wha- No?! And who even-”

Lio snorts. “No, he really is that much of an idiot to change sides on a whim.”

“Somehow it seems more plausible than other explanations, yeah.” Tanya nods with understanding and Galo should not feel so good about the small smile that appears on Lio’s lips all of a sudden, not in front of Tanya, not so sudden, but he _does_. And it feels right. 

Somehow, despite it all, it’s alright. 

Tanya shifts her weight and clears her throat. “As... _touching_ as your sudden chivalry display is, Thymos, I thought you might want to know that the judge agreed to postpone the trial and let Fotia testify properly. Though you will need to prepare evidence that isn’t scattered across the entire courtroom.”

“Seriously?!” Galo almost jumps, eyes darting to Lio. “That’s great news! You can fix everything, Lio!”

“Everything is a bit too much,” Lio huffs, but a small quirk of his lips tells Galo all he needs to know about how Lio feels about this.

Tanya taps her heel on the floor. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t look too apprehensive, either. Neutral, Galo supposes. Neutral is probably as good as they can go.

He’s fine with neutral.

“After today’s display, I can definitely say that I look forward to working with you, Mr. Fotia.” She comes closer to Lio’s bed and extends her long, manicured fingers. 

Lio takes it. “I look forward to beating Foresight in his own game.” 

They stare at each other with smiles on their faces and yet Galo feels the tension in the air so thick he could probably cut through it.

“Anyway!” Galo says, just a bit too loudly, but it at least succeeds in making both of them blink and shift away from each other. “Let’s work together and get Kray what he deserves, yeah?”

Tanya theatrically flips her hair and adjusts her glasses as she leans away. “Sure. I will be in contact, Thymos.”

“Great!” Galo chitters and sends her a smile he hopes doesn’t look as forced as it feels. She doesn’t smile back as she leaves, but this time she doesn’t slam the door. Small miracles.

It takes Galo a second to realise that he’s still holding Lio’s hand and _holy fuck did he really just do that oh fucking shit_.

Suddenly, Lio’s fingers squeeze on his. “Galo.”

His face is burning, he can tell. He can’t even bring himself to look in the general direction of Lio now. Oh god, he fucked up, he knows he did, _shit-_

“Galo, look at me.”

He’s going to die. “N-no.”

“Galo.” A sigh. “I can’t kiss you like this.”

He’s _definitely_ going to die. He’s going to burst into flames, burn to ashes and then die on the cold hospital floor. 

Lio’s fingers brush against the edge of his chin. They trace the line of his face, slow and careful, and just when they are about to graze his mouth, they fall down.

Galo blinks and raises his eyes. “What-”

Lio leans in, and Galo dies tasting his lips. 


	8. Chapter 8

Lio taps his legs on the floor. A dull sound.

“How is it?” Lucia asks with a question in her voice as she crouches down to look at the prosthetics. It looks like metal, at least how much Galo can see, but it can’t be that - metal is pretty heavy, after all, and Lio has no problem lifting his leg. 

“Weird,” Lio says, and Lucia pouts. “Uh, not _bad_ , just… I feel this will need some getting used to.”

“Well, yeah. Can’t expect you to run a marathon right off the bat, but I think it’ll be fine. The shape’s okay?”

Lio shifts his weight from one leg to the other. This one’s prosthetic is shorter, from where his ankle once was. Probably easier to stand on this one than the one down his calf, but then again the shape is roughly the same - more of a sharp spike than what Galo has seen prosthetics to be. 

“Yeah, I can manage.”

“Good. I tried to use a similar one to that armor of yours, but didn’t think it would be a good idea. You can press here if you want, so it’ll give you more of an area to put your weight down-”

“Oh, so that’s what it was reminding me of!” It’s so easy to see now, white outline with pointed endings and dark inside. It’s exactly like that armor.

“It’s sharp, too.” Lucia grins. “You can cut a bitch if desired. Or potatoes if you prefer. The point is: it’s _damn_ sharp. Can adjust it so that you won’t rip your pants though.” 

“It’s really not that hard to move in.” Lio straightens his back and takes a step forward. He wobbles for a second and Galo moves to grab him, but Lio bites his lips and suddenly, his whole posture changes. He stands tall - hell, he _stands_ , that’s enough for Galo to smile - but then Lio makes another step forward, and another, and soon the click-clack of the prosthetics echoes around the room.

Galo can’t stop smiling. And then he looks down.

“Lio! The floor!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Lio holds one of his legs up and stares at the mess he left on the wooden panels. Galo has spent so much time perfecting them, and now they’re decorated with pointed dents of Lio’s steps. Galo is not letting him go like this into the bedroom. 

The flat was given to them as a present, officially, but Galo knows the Burning Rescue has bought it for him and Lio, probably out of some secret fund Ignis had his hands on. Or maybe the government decided they deserve a nice place after all that shit, but Galo is not sure about that one. But as it stands their new place is, well, _theirs_ , small as it is. Galo put a lot of thought into making everything perfect to the last detail. 

And now he finds out all the dark wood has to be thrown out?

“Might want to invest in a carpet.” Lucia keeps grinning, but there’s some soft undertone to it. She must be as happy as Galo is to see Lio already running around. They all are. 

Lio hums and presses a button on the side. The metal blades twirl and whirl and Galo can’t catch what exactly happened, but the next time Lio makes a step it doesn’t leave a sad dent for him to fix later.

“Yeah, I told you you can retract the blades.” Lucia hops next to Lio and peers at her invention again. Galo really hopes it isn’t electric-based. He has enough problems at the station with loose wires she seems to really enjoy leaving sprawled around without a second thought.

This one seems to be fine, at least for now. And Lio likes them. 

“Thank you, Lucia, I can’t express-”

“Aah, aah!” She flops her hands around. “No thanks. I did it because I wanted to, not because of whatever you think it is. Also, if I’m thinking what I think you’re thinking, then stop that right now or I’m taking those little babies away.”

“Oh.” Lio blinks slowly and looks at Galo. Galo shrugs. “Then… They are really comfortable, generally speaking. And the balance is very similar to the one in Detroit.”

“Those generals of yours helped, too.” Lucia adjusts a strap of metal. “But you haven’t heard it from me.”

Lio smiles. “Sure.”

Galo wants to run close to him and sweep him in a big hug, hold close to his chest and smooch his hair. 

Lucia smirks. “It can also shoot projectiles, if you’re interested.”

Galo gasps. “No! Not in this household!”

“Absolutely in this household.” Lio gives him a shit-eating grin and Galo is sure something will end up on fire sooner or later. 

“Okay,” Galo says, “you can keep the blades, but not projectiles.”

“They’re sick, though,” Lucia says, and Galo hates himself for how convincing this argument sounds. 

Ah, fuck. It’s not like he would ever be afraid of a little fire, right? Especially not one made by Lio. And especially with how Lio seems happy with himself, for the first time in forever. 

“Let’s see these babies work,” Galo says. “Bet you can’t make salad quicker than I can with those on.”

“Bet you I can,” Lio says, and then bolts to the kitchen - effortlessly, gracefully, as if he was born with those blades attached to his skin.

Galo grins to himself and runs after him.

* * *

Lio throws up again.

“I’m fine, really, I-” His face turns green again and Galo leans over to put his all too long hair back before they fall into the toilet bowl.

Lio smacks his hand away with so much force Galo groans and jumps back.

“Sorry,” Lio says. “Don’t touch me so suddenly.”

“Alright.” Galo makes a step back. “Do you need something, water or…”

“Do we have tea?”

Galo is out of the door before he can remember. He rummages through the shelves, trying not to hear the sound of flushing the toilet, and finds what he was looking for. It’s simple and cheap bagged tea, but it’ll do. 

When the water boils, Lio appears from the bathroom.

“Better?” Galo asks and immediately feels like an idiot. Of course Lio is not better. It’s hardly something in his body that’s making him sick. 

He knows Lio refused to tell anyone what happened. He knows Lio insisted he’s fine through all his examinations and tests. He also knows that no matter how Lio tries to smile through it how much he tries to hide it from him for one dumb reason or another, Lio is not okay.

At least tonight Lio won’t have nightmares. The nights when he does, he never throws up. Just cries into the pillows, strained and choked up so that Galo won’t hear.

Galo always does. 

He wishes he could just come over and hug Lio, but it probably wouldn’t be the best idea. That’s another new thing besides the restless nights.

 _It’s not you_ , Lio said the first time he pushed Galo away so hard he almost fell over. _Sorry_.

‘Sorry.’ Like it’s somehow his fault, and not the man who did this to him. Like Galo might think less of him because of it. What are a few sleepless nights? And Lio not touching him is still better than Lio not being here at all.

Galo hates that some part of him, the one that he still clings onto despite everything to the contrary, still believed that if only he does what he was supposed to - find Lio, bring him back, _tell him_ \- that everything will be alright, that he and Lio will be free.

Nothing is ever that easy, it seems. The enemy doesn't disappear - it only moves, and it went to a place Galo can scarcely reach.

“Maybe we should ask the doctor to increase your meds?” 

Lio rolls his eyes. “They don’t work like that. And besides, the doctor said it will only take full effect in about a month or more.” There’s irritation at the edge of his voice. Tiredness, too. Galo can’t exactly blame him for that - Lio is probably even more irritated with everything than Galo is.

It’s still better than before, of course. Better than the shaky first day when Lio smiled a lot with eyes darting from side to side, scanning the whole area and keeping just a little bit too close to every exit and window. 

There was a split second when Galo saw Lio’s fingers going over the handle of the window and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, sure that Lio’s going to try to jump out - and then he remembers they live on a ground level now. 

Lio took his hand away when he noticed Galo staring. 

The place is small, but it’s their home - wholly, but not yet truly, not before it starts to feel like one. And it will, Galo is sure. It’s everything they could hope for, really, with how it’s ready for them to live in immediately. Galo is sure Aina did the furnishing and he recognizes Remi’s appreciation for all neat and tidy in the small details of the outlay. The Burning Rescue really did put all their heart into this place.

The thing he really appreciates, though, is the level of security here. It’s easy to miss, but for someone like Galo, who lived half their life with a broken intercom and barely-there locks it’s kind of a big thing.

It’s absolutely a world-changer for Lio, even if he tries to hide it. The sheer knowledge that there’s a guard he can call in at all times - that seems to calm him down, even if a little. 

It all means nothing when the night comes.

Lio doesn’t drink, only looks at the surface of the tea and warms his hands. _Doesn’t it hurt? Should I tell him to stop before he hurts himself?_

“I want to cut my hair,” Lio says, raising his eyes. 

“Oh.” Lio’s eyes are sleep-struck even now, but the heat behind them makes Galo wonder if they will go back to sleep at all. “Do you want me to get you a visit with a hairdresser or-”

“Now, Galo.” His fingers tighten on the cup. “I want it now.”

Oh. “ _Now_ now? Because I don’t have proper scissors, or know how to do it, or-”

“I don’t care. I want it gone.” Tighter, tighter, the steam still rising strong. Is it Galo’s sleep-filled imagination or are the tips of Lio’s fingers going red, burned, hurting him, he’s hurting himself-

“Okay.” Finally, _finally_ Lio’s hands fall away from the cup. A bit red, but nothing to be alarmed about - not yet, anyway. “Let’s do it in the bathroom, it’ll be easier to clean up.”

Lio nods. “I can do it myself, I just need you to look at the back and tell me if it’s okay.”

“Can do.” Galo fakes a smile. 

The bathroom still stinks of acid, the smell tickling at the back of his throat. He does his best to ignore it as he reaches into a cupboard under the sink and grabs a pair of scissors - normal, paper ones. It would probably be kind of hard to cut hair with the nail ones. 

He hands it over to Lio. “Here you go.”

Lio’s expression is unreadable as he takes the scissors by the far end of the handle, as if he was afraid to accidentally brush against Galo’s fingers.

It hurts. He wants to hold Lio close and tell him everything is okay, kiss the top of his head and run his fingers down with reassurance. He wants to be the one Lio would ask to cut his hair.

But he isn’t. The only thing he can do is look as Lio fixes his grip on the handle, steps further away and looks in the mirror. 

And then he hacks at his hair. 

“Wow, hold on!” Galo waves his hands, but it’s too late; blonde hair falls to the floor, strand after strand as Lio snaps the scissors again and again with a blank look in his eyes, not looking, not seeing, and the blades are so close to his skin, his ears, he’s going to cut through the flesh and make himself bleed and-

Galo grabs Lio’s wrist before he can think. Lio yelps, tensing under Galo’s hands, and the scissors fall to the floor with a crash.

“We’re not doing it now,” Galo says. “Tomorrow. Now let’s just sleep, yeah?”

Lio’s whole body shivers. 

Galo lets his fingers fall away and takes a step back. “Sorry.” 

Lio licks his lips. “I- I don’t know, I just- Sorry, I will clean this up.” He bends to the floor and tries to grab at the strands of hair on the floor, but his fingers are all over the place, unable to as much as lift one. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Galo beams again and as fake as it is, he hopes Lio will find some comfort in it anyway. “Just- let’s go to the bed, yeah? Tomorrow we can take care of this.” 

“Okay. Okay,” Lio breathes out, the rise and fall of his chest too quick. His hands clench into fists on the floor, his back bending as his thighs move.

Right. He hasn’t had time to get used to those prosthetics yet. “Do you need help with standing up?”

“No,” comes immediately. Galo wants to argue, tell Lio to take his time, he’s already doing so well, but Lio grabs at the edge of the sink and hoists himself up, even with his step unsteady. 

He limps all the way to their bedroom. Galo says nothing.

* * *

Gueira all but lunges across the hallway into Lio. “Boss!”

Lio’s body tenses for a fraction of a second, but he’s quick to smile and relax into him. “Hey.”

“Wow, you really did a number on your head, huh.” Meis smirks as he approaches them and comes in for a group hug. 

They’re warm. They smell like cigarettes, gasoline and bad life choices, and Lio wouldn’t have it any other way.

Galo shuffles somewhere. “Hey, guys.”

Lio wriggles out of the embrace and and even when he does, they stay close, less than a step away. 

It's so easy to accept this closeness from them. They have always been here, one way or another, and sleeping with them next to him is one of the things he misses. In the hospital, it was all too easy for them to fall asleep like this, with Lio on the bed and them curling on their arms at the edges. 

"Thymos," Meis says, short and sharp. Not aggressively, but enough for Lio to feel this tension still hanging there.

Gueira doesn't seem to mind. "Hey, Galo. I got you a beer as well."

Galo groans. "I told you, I don't drink!"

"Too bad. You do now." Gueira shakes his bag and the clank of glass is loud enough for Lio to suspect he and Meis robbed an entire brewery. Which wouldn't be the first time, but they agreed not to talk about this. 

Maybe later, when all of them have gotten enough alcohol in their system to laugh at it instead of being embarrassed. 

"Yeah, I will need help with that." He flips the not mutilated side of his hair.

Laugh at it. Smile. Smiling is better than crying and worrying Galo again, better than remembering how he dragged his nails on Lio's skull and pulled, hard, so pretty.

"I got my stuff, don't worry, Boss." Meis pats his hip pouch. It clinks as well, but Lio really hopes that one is not booze. Meis promised to help - at least that's what Galo has told him in the morning, after Lio woke up and crawled from under the mountain of covers and blankets he had huddled through the night. 

He didn't mention the drinking part, though. That must be all Meis and Gueira. 

"I look forward to seeing what crime you will commit while drunkenly cutting my hair," Lio says with a grin. 

"I planned to do it before we got smashed. But your call, Boss." 

"I will get the snacks," he hears Galo say, and then he hears the sound of a body colliding with the doorframe. 

Lio winces. They should probably get it moved, somehow, or Galo really will end up knocked out cold on the floor one day.

"And he ran away." Gueira kicks his boots away. "Meis, that's your fault."

Meis grunts. "I haven't done anything."

"Yet." Gueira grabs Meis's jacket and puts it on the hanger with his own one. "You're scary when you want to be, babe. And you really want to right now."

Meis rolls his eyes. "If you're that worried about Thymos, go and try to calm him down before he breaks something."

"Fuck!" comes from somewhere, and then the sound of something hitting the floor.

Gueira shoots them one look and bolts away.

Meis snorts. “Let's see if two idiots are better than one.”

 _Crash._ “No!”

“I'm beginning to think that we're hexing this,” Lio says.

Meis shrugs. "Or maybe lady luck just really hates your kitchenware."

“At least it's new. And washed properly.”

Meis huffs. “Gueira is learning, thank you very much. Not exactly much experience, given that you know he hates it.”

“Are you going to help me or are we going to wait here until they finish breaking everything?”

“Wow, someone's impatient. Then again, I'd be too if my hair was in a state like this.”

“Touché.” He grins. “So, will you help?”

A minute later Lio grabs a chair from the kitchen and catches a glimpse of Gueira running into the living room with a handful of paper towels. Fuck, they will probably never get the smell of booze out of the carpet now.

He drags the chair into the bathroom. There is exactly enough space for Meis to stand behind him, if he squeezes enough. 

Meis takes one look at him in the mirror and reaches for a hairbrush. 

With his hair now slowly being combed, he can clearly see just how much he fucked up. Well, it’s to be expected - not like he had any idea what he was doing, both in terms of cutting his hair and… well.

_Fire, smell of burning skin, hands on his thighs. So pretty. Suits you._

He didn’t know why it came back, only that it did and suddenly the brush of the tips of his hair on his shoulders and the nape of his neck was too much, too harsh and violent. It wasn’t pain, not quite, but like something had awoken in between layers of the skin on his head and started wriggling around, chewing through the tissue and eating at his hair follicles, until the need to take them out blinded everything else and all at once Galo’s fingers were clenching on his wrist, hard enough for him to drop the scissors.

“How do you want to do it?” Scrap, scritch against his skull.

He shrugs. “You’re the expert here. And you can see how my judgment worked.”

Meis snorts. “You look like you either tried to go for a bowl cut and had a heart attack in the middle or somehow managed to smuggle a grass cutter here and decided to fight it.”

“Rub it in my face, why don’t you.” 

“Hey, it’s about as good as I expected you to manage anyway.” Meis puts down the brush and reaches inside his hip pouch. Lio has no idea why he needs this amount of hairbands and pins, but apparently it is important, because Meis shuffles through them and finally fishes out the one he wants. 

“Hmm.” His fingers are barely there, enough for Lio to feel them, but not so much as to make him uncomfortable. “Yeah, I might have an idea. Keep still, now.”

Lio does. Meis grabs his all too long fringe and pins it up. He huffs, pushing Lio’s hair forward and back, and Lio absolutely has no idea what’s happening. 

It’s comforting, in a way. It’s nice to know that hasn’t changed. Lio can still recall the slow evenings when they had just enough time to sit down and let Meis’s hands wander on the scalp of his and Gueira’s heads, giving them a much needed haircut. A small thing, but it grounded them to reality. Made them have some semblance of normalcy. 

Maybe it can be something like this now, too.

“So.” Meis tips Lio’s head back, grabbing at the front of his soon to be fringe. “How is life with Thymos treating you?”

Lio shrugs and immediately Meis glares at him. 

“Oh, sorry.”

“No problem. Unless you actually want to get a passable haircut, in which case do not move while I’m working, boss.”

“Alright, alright, got it.” Snip, snip of the scissors, hair falling on his lap and ticking his nose. 

“But seriously.” Lio sees Meis’s face in the mirror drop. “You alright?”

“I…” He licks his lips. “I still have nightmares, but I can manage.” That’s a safe way to put it.

Meis’s hand stills for a second. “You know you can always go to us if things are bad.”

“It’s not bad,” Lio says. Meis in the mirror looks at him with a brow raised. “Okay, it’s nothing I can’t bear with.”

“You are not supposed to bear with it, boss.” Meis grabs another strand of hair and puts it up, scissors running up and down. “You deserve better than that.”

“Do I, now.” His face in the mirror smiles without a trace of humor. 

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in Meis’s voice. “You deserve to be happy and safe, and have someone around you who knows and cares about that.”

Lio can’t stop himself from twisting his head and looking Meis in the eye. “And Galo doesn’t?”

Meis points the scissors at him. “I swear to god, boss, one more move without a warning and I’m shaving you bald.” 

Lio would rather fight a weed-whacker. He returns to staring at Meis in the mirror. 

Meis huffs. “I won’t pretend I like him,” Meis says, once again picking where he left off. “But even if I did, I think that right now you should be with us until everything calms down.”

“It’s safe here.”

“It’s not about safety.” Lio just barely stops himself from tilting his head. He makes a face at Meis instead. “Okay, maybe it is. You know me and Gueria would fuck up anyone who tries to come close.”

“I can do that myself.”

“I know. Still would break their knees.” He moves to the back of Lio’s head. Lio tries not to be bothered about not seeing his hands. “But let’s face it, we’ve known you for years. We know what you’ve been through… at least a part of it.” His mouth curls into a smile, but his eyes stay cold and clouded. 

Lio knows better than to ask. The Freeze Force is and always will be bastards in his book, and making whatever reforms won’t change that. He saw one too many times the scared look of someone who hasn’t been able to escape in time, who saw the worst they had to offer and felt themselves tearing at the seams. 

He still remembers the emptiness behind the glass surface of one woman’s eyes as he tried to ask what’s going on, only for Meis and Gueira to shake their heads and try to help her stand. She was burning, but even that didn’t protect her. And one night, when Lio finally started to see something curling in the depths of her gaze, she took off into the desert without a word. They haven't found her, and there was no one who could afford to keep looking.

 _It’s a part of being a Burnish_ , Lio remembers himself thinking, _like the frostbite scars or the tension at the smallest sound._ _It’s something that happens without a reason or a warning, it just does, and there’s no way to stop it._

He remembers vowing to never let something like this happen again. 

“I’m fine,” Lio repeats. “Really.”

Meis doesn’t buy one bit of it. “Thymos is empathetic, I give him that. But he’s not one of us.”

“And?” 

“And,” Meis continues, pushing stray hairs away from Lio’s neck, “we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“He won’t hurt me, Meis. I don’t know what you think, but… He’s…” And again he looks in the mirror and tries to search for the words.

Galo said he loves him. Lio kissed him. They moved in together and the nights that Lio can bear, they sleep in one bed. They cook for each other, and somehow it feels natural now to make two cups of tea instead of one and always put in his basket that one yoghurt Galo likes when they need to do groceries. 

It’s all there, all he ever wanted. There’s no excuse for Lio not to be happy with his - with Galo. 

So why is it so hard to look Meis in the eye and explain?

“Boss, I know you like him.” Another small tug. Lio does his best not to move this time. “And I’m not telling you to stop. Just, I don’t think he’s exactly the best person to keep you company right now.”

“And you are?”

Meis shrugs. How he manages to keep his hands perfectly still, working on the tips of his hair is a mystery Lio has no idea how to solve. “We definitely have a more fitting record.” One more snip of scissors, just a bit too close for Lio’s liking, and then Meis steps back. 

One of the sides is longer than the other, a strand of hair long and a bit curled like when it was before. The other side is shorter, harsher, and when he moves his head he sees how near the skin the cut at the bottom of his skull is - not quite an undercut, but shorter than Lio is used to. It feels different. Lighter. 

He moves his head and watches how his hair moves.

“Had to do it pretty short,” Meis says, grabbing at some stray hair and putting it in place as he looks at Lio in the mirror. “Couldn’t save that side, but asymmetrical seems to work. Though I can even it out if you prefer.”

“I like it like this.” His face looks sharper, somehow. The lines of his cheekbones and jaw are more visible now. Maybe it’s some hairstyling magic Meis worked in, or maybe his body is finally starting to look more like it’s supposed to again. 

It’s still too heavy, all this weight in all wrong places, but without that one pressing him to the ground he can’t help but look Meis in the eye and smile.

“Thank you,” Lio says. 

“No problem, boss.” Meis grins, then steps aside for Lio to comfortably stand up and throw the small hairs still clinging to his clothes off himself. “Let’s go see if the idiot duo have managed to set the house on fire while we were talking, yeah?”

“They wouldn’t,” Lio says. And then he smells smoke.

_flesh hands digging inside pain pain her eyes his fault can’t breathe can’t feel his legs can’t-_

“We really are hexing this, huh.” Meis pushes after him, and a small suggestion of a touch is enough for Lio to flinch. _Meis this is Meis won’t hurt me won’t hurt me-_

“You coming?” Meis tilts his head, a smile still at his lips, but his eyes are calculating, searching. 

Lio forces himself to breathe in. It’s too shaky, too quick - but at least his mind stops being so foggy and hazy for just enough time for him to nod and follow Meis out of the bathroom.

* * *

Galo chews on the charred remains of popcorn. “It’s not that bad, really.”

“Yeah, sure.” Gueira grabs another handful of potato chips from the bowl on the floor. “Have fun tomorrow. Sure your stomach will love this.”

“A little ash won’t beat the great Galo Thymos!” And here goes another mouthful.

Meis pours himself another glass of wine. “At least you’re finally admitting what it is now.”

Lio grabs the bottle and takes a sip straight out of it. He winces. “This is pure sulfur.”

“And you love it.” Meis all but slams his glass against the bottle. 

Lio does, but he has not yet sunken low enough to admit it. He rolls his eyes and takes another sip. For what it’s worth, it seems strong enough.

From the corner of his eye he catches Galo staring again. And again, Galo blinks and immediately retreats the second Lio as much as shifts in his direction, hiding behind a bowl of would-be popcorn. That's not like him at all, so much so that Lio raises his brows and opens his mouth before it hits him.

Oh. The hair. He must look different and Galo noticed. Gueira did, but he said that the first thing when Lio ran into the kitchen.

Galo, though… He didn't say a word. And now he's staring. So he either hates it so badly he can't find the words to say it to Lio's face or he _does_ like it, enough to be speechless and embarrassed and very much using the popcorn as a diversion.

Lio grins. The buzz of alcohol in his brain makes it easier for him to turn around and look Galo in the eye as if he was completely oblivious to… whatever it is Galo is doing.

"You're not drinking?" He points to the can of beer in front of Galo. His first one. Is it the first one? Whatever.

"I don't like beer."

"Hmm." Lio nods with understanding and before he has a chance to stop himself, he grabs his bottle of wine again and extends his hand to Galo.

Galo blinks. "That's... not really what I meant."

"You're boring," Gueira says, snatching the bottle from Lio's hands. They fight for it for all of two seconds before Lio decides spilling it all on the new carpet is not worth it.

"Wanna share, babe?" Gueira asks, pointing at Meis's glass. It's completely full of the same shitty wine Gueira has in that bottle.

"Sure," Meis says.

Lio's mind decides to ponder the matter of things and the way in which the room is slowly spinning - clockwise, as much as he can tell - and only when he hears a strangled sound coming from Galo his eyes focus once again.

"Fuck, not on the carpet," he hears himself say.

Meis untangles himself from Gueira's face and gulps. There's probably not much there anyway, seeing the mess that is dripping down Meis's chin, right on the all too expensive white vegan fur. Can a carpet be vegan if it's not for eating? It might as well be now. There's probably not much they will be able to do with it now anyway.

Gueira looks very red and very satisfied, and there's a big, wet spot at the front of his shirt. 

"God, you're so sexy," Meis says, and then puts his face on Gueira's again. And into, too, judging from how violent they are going at it. 

"Ewww." Lio kicks at Meis's back and like everything in his life, it only makes everything worse. Now they are horizontal, and if Lio knows anything about them, they are probably going to finish like this. On the carpet. Which they are now staining even more with their cheap wine-soaked shirts.

Galo makes another distressed sound. 

Gueira wriggles from under Meis for long enough to send him a shit-eating grin and then moan theatrically. 

Galo is not red. The wine is red, on their carpet, so Lio knows what red looks like. Galo is not red. More like purple. And pink. And with his face halfway inside the popcorn bowl again.

Lio kicks at Meis's ass. Meis yelps, shifts and almost knocks over an abandoned can of- something. 

Lio makes a grunt as a warning. He grabs at the can and, because he is a responsible person and doesn't want the contents spilled, he drinks up what was left there, which turns out to be almost a full beer. Uh-oh.

Meis finally takes pity on them and rolls away from Gueira. 

He looks Lio in the eye and from the way he's squinting his eyes, trying to focus, Lio concludes that he isn't the only one who feels the sweet promiles already kicking in. 

"Lio," Meis says.

"Mhm." 

Another squint. "Did we... Bathroom. Cleaned up?"

"No," Lio says, like an idiot.

"Oh. Okay." Meis shifts, grabbing at the edge of the sofa and standing up. "Me 'nd Gueira... We'll clean up. Okay?"

Gueira all but jumps up. "Yeah!" 

Lio looks at Meis. Then at Gueira and his hand somewhere around where Meis's waist is. Then it clicks. "You want to... in the bathroom?"

"No," Meis says at the same time when Gueira says "Yes."

Lio loves them so damn much. Also he hates them. Because, the carpet. "Don't break anything."

“Sure.” Meis grins as one of Gueira’s hands sneak definitely lower than Meis’s waist. “Nothing yours, at least.”

Galo makes a sound like he’s choking.

“Pack it, cherry boy.” Gueira makes a very good job of uttering every single obscene sound known to man at once and Galo turns even redder. Lio thinks it’s hilarious, then hates himself for thinking it’s hilarious, and then laughs at himself hard enough for it to turn into a coughing fit. 

Someone gives him a glass and he drinks. It burns down his throat even more.

“You alright?” The change in Meis’s face is instant; he crouches next to Lio and puts the palm on his hand on the small of his back with eyebrows drawn together and mouth pressed into a thin line. He almost doesn’t look drunk anymore. Or at least not like they are supposed to be getting drunk - fun and carefree and not like that time on the run when Lio forgot he had to be strong and sobbed into the sleeve of Meis’s shirt. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lio lies with acid creeping up his insides. “Go have fun.”

Gueira’s face scrunches in concentration, but he’s way worse than Meis in pretending not to be just short of wasted. “Boss, you sure? Really sure?”

Lio rolls his eyes theatrically. “Yes, _really_. Now go take care of that boner of yours before you forget how your dick works.”

Gueira’s eyes widen and he looks down to the very not boner-like front of his pants. 

Lio snorts. “I can manage for a few minutes with just Galo as company.”

“Oh, if Gueira knows any better it will be more than a few minutes,” Meis says, but there’s still something laced with concern in the way he rubs one last time between Lio’s shoulder blades. 

Gueira shoves him. “Hey! Not sharing our sex life in front of the boss, remember?”

“Unless he wants to join.” Meis waggles his eyebrows. 

Lio laughs. “Hard pass this time. Go play nice by yourselves.”

“Well, if you insist.” Gueira’s hand finds its way back to the definitely not ass area. Lio gets a full view when they waggle away, giggling and wavering on their feet, and about thirty seconds later Lio hears the sound of the door opening, some scrambling, and then closing. 

Galo looks something between embarrassed and dumbfounded. He looks at where Meis and Gueira disappeared, then at Lio, and then for some reason inside the not-popcorn bowl.

"Not this time?" Galo chokes out finally.

Lio rolls his eyes. "It's a joke. You know, a thing that's supposed to make you laugh?"

"Oh, har har." Galo huffs and reluctantly grabs a glass from the table. Lio has a feeling it's either something really strong or non-alcoholic at all.

Galo's Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows and Lio catches himself staring at the way the muscles of his neck contract and retract under his skin. Stupid big muscles. Stupid pretty jawline and-

"It doesn't, you know. Bother you?" Galo finally puts the glass down with his big, strong arms that Lio now knows make the best pillows to sleep on.

Lio forces himself to look at Galo's face instead of... Other things. "Why?" 

Galo shrugs. "You know."

"I, in fact, do not know why my friends fucking would be any of my business, actually."

"Not that. Just..." And he's hiding behind that bowl again. Lio wants to knock it out of Galo's hands. 

He doesn't, because god knows if this abomination of culinary non-achievements can stain the carpet any more than it already is ruined, but he's not about to try and find out. So instead he stares with one eyebrow raised and Galo becomes even more twitchy than he already was, his eyes everywhere but on Lio. 

"Doesn't it make you uncomfortable? The sex part? After all you've been... I mean, what he-"

The bowl hits the floor with a crash, sending popcorn everywhere, and Lio can't even feel the dull ache in his knuckles.

He. He, he, _he_. There's a name attached, Lio knows, but it's always been just _he_ and it will stay that way in his mind. And Galo knows. Of course he knows. He was the one that found Lio, he was the one that saw what Lio did and what he's become and he should be ashamed, should be panicking, fully aware of everything and nothing that's coiling under his skin and he shouldn't be okay with anything, shouldn't be drinking or having fun and he doesn't deserve this and-

"Lio?" Breath on his face, hot and damp and _disgusting._

Lio swallows. "I need to get something," he blurts out and darts away before his mind has a chance to realise that his body is about to fall apart.

There's ringing in his ears and a knot in his stomach, and he bumps into the wall as he goes, runs, anywhere that isn't here, that doesn't know-

Kitchen. The sink. He needs to reach the sink. He's going to throw up again, he can feel it already scratching at his insides. His chest is heavy, too heavy, forcing him down to the floor, _I'm sorry, Mister Fotia, for the time being please bear with the inconvenience until complete recovery-_

He hates it, hates the words and the looks and the sad eyes of that one nurse that sat at his side the day before he was discharged and asked him if he wanted to talk about it.

He didn't. He doesn't. He won't, because saying it out loud would be even more sacreligious than it already is, like somehow it would make everything real, more than the words on paper he submitted to the court, full of pretty words that weren't saying anything. 

Meis and Gueira don't tell him, but he's sure more and more with every gesture he sees from them that they are careful with him, gentle and sweet. Nothing like before, when they believed Lio could pull his own weight and keep all the Burnish together with just a few words and his sword at bay. Now they treat him like he's made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

Lio is already shattered.

He spots a sponge, abandoned in the bottom of the sink. He grabs it. It's harsh against his fingertips - metal one, it seems, the one Lio wanted to ask Galo for replacing soon. It's all too worn out, full of sharp threads that leave scratches all over their new pans.

He can't think. He can't breathe. He is dirty, he is stained, and so he lets the water run and starts scraping at his hands.

He doesn't feel anything. And so he tries harder, more and more, putting his long sleeves up and rubbing at the dots and lines of scars.

He wants to scrub down, through the skin and tendons and flesh until he feels the hard bone, but even this part of him is tainted, stained and rotten and _disgusting._

He was so stupid, so naive for thinking for even a second that Galo could be looking at him with anything but disgust. He was stupid for looking in the mirror and smiling and he was stupid for letting himself believe that it could be alright like this.

Meis and Gueira are happy and Lio is ruining it. Galo is happy in the new home and that, too, he had to fuck up somehow. Galo's tired smile, bags under his eyes - it's like before, only now Lio knows he should be happy, too, should want to sleep in the bed with Galo and let him put his arm around his waist and not feel like vomiting with every bit of skin that brushes against him.

Galo doesn't deserve it. Meis and Gueira don't deserve it. He should just-

"Lio!" Hands on him, on his clothes, no, not again, not here, he will go back, he will be good, a good girl, please-

He doesn't remember crying, but he must have, because when the world comes back to being focused his cheeks are wet. And so is the front of his shirt, he sees. It’s completely soaked and clings to his skin uncomfortably, too cold and tight. 

The insides of his arms are red again.

He blinks slowly, and the world wobbles a little before it shifts and finally tunes in to the correct wavelength for him to actually hear what is being said to him.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, Lio it’s just me-”

“Move, _shit_ , boss, Lio-”

He tries to stand up - when did he sink to the kitchen floor? - and three pairs of hands immediately try to push him down. He doesn’t shake them off, if only because it would be rude, and then discovers he actually can’t. 

“I’m alright,” Lio says, and wonders why can’t he move his fingers.

"Like hell you are!" Meis is here, and so is Gueira. They shouldn't be here. No one should be here.

"I had worse," Lio says and tries to rise up again. And again, they are all too quick to stop him.

There's something dark in their eyes, something too much like pity. Lio hates it. 

"Let's get it cleaned up, yeah?" Galo fumbles with a small box Lio remembers him putting on the shelf in the bathroom. For emergencies, he said.

This is not an emergency. Lio is really fine, even if his skin tingles and his fingers are numb. 

Lio tries to crack a smile. "Seriously. Weren't you two supposed to be getting it on?"

"Boss, do you really think we'd just go fuck off in your sparkly clean restroom?" Meis's brows are knit together and he worries at his lower lip, eyes darting down at Lio and then back to his face. He's not buying it. "We went to fetch a present for you, some real wine and everything, fuck, we got you some tacky house mat and-"

And he ruined it. Lio wants to throw his head back and laugh. He didn't think it could get worse, but once again, he's proven wrong. Meis and Gueira tried to be nice and Lio fucked it all up.

And Galo... He struggles to take the bandages and gauze out of the box, hands too shaky. It's Lio's fault.

It always is. 

"Just leave me alone." The words slip out of his throat, too harsh and heavy on his tongue. They sound far away, like it's someone else saying them. "Let me die."

Gueira shivers next to Meis. His fingers are clutching at Meis's wrist, and it must hurt with how Gueira's knuckles whiten in its clutch, but Meis doesn't pull away. "Boss-"

"No." 

Lio blinks. 

Galo stares at him, looking straight into his eyes and past them, and Lio can't move. Galo sees everything, past his skin and directly into the rotting flesh and charred bone hidden under the surface.

Galo looks into the mangled mess of decaying insides that Lio has become and he says, "Give me your hands."

Lio does. He can't think as Galo dabs at the cuts with an antiseptic - ouch, Lio thinks, and then relief at feeling at all flooding him too much to even process the pain at all - and then puts down the bandages, soft fabric much gentler than what Lio deserves.

Somewhere along the way he registers the hands on him again, rough but familiar enough for him to lean into them rather than away. Meis on one side, Gueira on the other, just like it's always been.

And Galo in front of him, kneeling and bowing his head without losing any of the confidence beaming from his body and drowning everything around in waves.

_Come on down, big boss._

"Done," Galo says in that same tone Lio barely recognizes, if at all. "Tomorrow we will go check it out at a hospital. And if it opens at any point during the night you are waking up and saying it, you hear me?"

"Thymos, back off." Lio can hear the glare in Meis's voice.

"No." Again that harsh, rough edge. "I'm not going to let it happen again. Whatever it takes. Take it or leave it."

Uncompromised, sharp - all the things Galo isn't, and yet is in front of Lio's eyes. He feels... He doesn't know how he feels.

"Boss?" Gueira says against his skin, eyes wide and alarmed. 

Everyone is worrying about him. Everyone is clutching at him and pulling him back just to see just how disgusting his inside is.

Lio doesn't care anymore. Maybe it's alcohol, maybe it's the blood he lost or something else in the air.

"Okay," Lio says. "Okay."

Galo puts his hands under Lio's arms and hoists him up with just enough force to just barely not hurt. Lio wobbles, his legs suddenly all out of balance, artificial, false flesh all too alien for his reflexes to work with it yet.

He slumps in Galo's arms. He's different, he notices. Different than Lio remembers. It's the same as - as before, but the shape of muscles, the smell of his skin... That's all so different, and yet it feels like he fits in there, somehow.

It's the alcohol, Lio decides. Definitely alcohol.

Meis clears his throat. "Do you need help-"

"No," Galo says. Softer, now. "He needs to sleep it off. It's not severe enough to be really dangerous, but better get this properly cleaned later."

"We can't just leave." Gueira comes closer, so close Lio can feel the heat radiating off his body. "We're staying."

Galo's grip on him tightens for a second - and then relaxes, making Lio drown in the softness of his body. 

"We do have a big bed," he hears Galo say. "And some mattresses. That okay?"

Meis shrugs. "Will do." 

Lio can just barely remember how to walk, but it turns out he doesn't need to. Galo decides to carry him in the most embarrassing way possible, and somehow, Lio doesn't have it in him to be mad at that. 

The prosthetics are the first to go - Lucia has made them in a way that would make them easy to remove if need be, and so Lio only needs to press the clasps in a specific way for them to click open. He puts them both on the floor next to the nightstand, making them stand straight if only because it would be a pain if they were too far away so that he needs to ask Galo for help. 

He throws his shirt off him next. It catches on the bandages and he struggles until there are someone's hands tugging at the fabric, too, and it finally slides off. And then he realises that he probably shouldn't have done this.

He sees it all again in their eyes as they look at his chest. Mangled and marred, with scars and marks and those ugly lumps of flesh hanging there, mocking him with every move of his body.

He hates that he wants to cover himself again, even though they have already seen the traces left all over him. 

Lio tries to crack a smile again. "So who is the happy guy that will share the bed with me?"

"Your boyfriend, probably," Gueira says.

Galo makes a sound like he's choking. "Uh- Mattresses! I-I need to go-"

"Nah, just tell us where they are." Meis doesn't as much as bat an eye. He's a bastard sometimes, Lio thinks as Galo stares down at the bed with Lio, then back at Meis and Gueira.

“Wardrobe in the corridor,” Galo says finally. "Folded on the upper shelf."

"Roger that," Gueira says.

He and Meis leave and just like that, Lio is alone with Galo again.

Lio puts the covers over himself and snuggles his head into the pillow. It's nice, softer than their older ones, and Lio closes his eyes just to focus on that feeling. And maybe not to look at Galo for a bit.

He hears Galo walk across the room and open one of the drawers. Then rustling of clothes, the sound of the drawer again, _how does Galo look without his pants?_

He was staring. Galo was staring, today. He probably will want Lio to-

No. Galo is not that kind of a person. Galo is not _him_. And besides, Meis and Gueira are here. They wouldn’t hurt him. Wouldn’t let him get hurt.

It’s not that Galo or Meis or Gueira could do that to him, he realises. He knows they wouldn’t. But the person that would and did creeps around in every shade and sudden touch, and it’s enough for Lio to think that he’s in the basement again. Or worse.

The bed shifts slightly as Galo's weight appears at the other side. Right. The covers. Lio did take them all for himself. Probably shouldn't have.

He untangles a part and tries to shove it to Galo's side. He succeeds in grabbing a handful of what he can assume is somewhere around Galo's ribs.

Galo yelps, high and surprised, and it's so different from before and so much like _Galo_ that Lio can't help but snicker. He lifts his head just a bit, and it’s enough to see Galo smile, too.

“I love you,” Galo says with that sweetness in his voice Lio gets drunk on every time. And then, “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I don’t know why I…” It’s hard to look at Galo again. He’s smiling, still, but there’s bitterness there underlying everything, and Lio can’t look him in the eye knowing he’s the cause of this. “I just… didn’t think. It was too much and I-”

“I’m not blaming you,” Galo says. “But this… it scared me, Lio. Seeing you like that - and the thought of losing you again. I don’t think I could take it.”

Lio cracks a smile. “You’re strong. You’d be fine.”

“Don’t say that. Please. Even as a joke.” Galo looks like he’s about to cry and something twists in Lio’s guts. He should comfort him, he realises. Say something smart and make it all better. And as always, he can’t find the right words.

So instead he pushes one of his hands forward and rests it atop Galo’s, and somehow, it doesn’t feel as bad as he thought it would be.

It’s Galo. Galo’s skin, Galo’s smell, Galo’s blood pulsing under his fingertips. Galo’s wide, surprised eyes, and then Galo’s relaxed muscles all but melting into the touch.

He should love this. He should be able to do that all the time, every second he can. But when he stops anchoring himself to this moment for even a fraction of a second, he’s back _there, where_ the smallest touch was the indication of something that Lio cannot even think about clearly. And yet his body remembers and makes sure to remind him of it every time, harsher and more panicked than ever until he lets go.

He doesn’t want to let go, but he does. And it feels awful.

“You know, it’s funny in a way.” Words are slipping again, more and more of what shouldn’t be out in the open for Galo to see. “Would think that I’d get scars from saving the world and literally dying, but no. The ones that will be there forever are-” Lio’s voice falters and he tries to take a breath in only to realise that it’s somehow harder now. He opens his mouth again, but the only thing that comes out from between his lips is a broken half-sob, and then suddenly he can’t stop the tears running down his cheeks and staining the sheets. 

He puts his face in the pillow again. “Sorry,” he says into the pillow, “it’s stupid.”

“It isn’t, though.” Not quite a touch, not close enough, but just perfect for Lio to feel Galo coming closer, shifting his body towards Lio. He’s probably imagining feeling the warmth of Galo, but it feels good anyway. “It would be easier that way, right? More fair.”

“Y-yeah.” God, it’s hard to breathe with his face in the pillow, but it’s better than the alternative and seeing Galo’s expression again. 

He hates that he wants to raise his head and just _look_ once again. To see and feel that this really is Galo, here, with him. 

“Every time,” he says, “I’m scared that I’ll wake up and be back there.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” A humorless chuckle. “It was the only thing I needed to do and even that I fucked up. I just feel like I didn't do anything at all. I just made everything worse. I found you because he wanted you to be found, he told me! It's all a coincidence. Just pure luck. I found you because of luck, not-"

"No, Galo." He doesn’t know how he finds the strength to rise once again, but he does, and suddenly he’s looking Galo in the eye with words spilling out again. "You may have found me by coincidence, but you saved me by choice."

Lio has never seen him look so sad, so overcome with the empathy that fills him to the brim of his being. But not pity. Never pity.

He doesn’t pity Lio, because he doesn’t need to. His pain is Lio’s pain, so much so that Lio can’t help but feel connected, somehow, as if their souls are joined together once again in that out of this world way that makes Lio’s head spin and body melt into the mattress. 

“I love you,” Galo says, and Lio almost feels the tremble of his voice on his skin, inside his very being. 

He’s broken. He’s beaten. But somehow, being with Galo like this makes him feel whole again, less sharp at the edges. More like a person he once was.

It’s not fair to Galo. It’s not fair that he doesn’t get to be the hero he deserves, the hero he is to all, that he worries about Lio and feels his pain even more so than his own. That he won’t get to love someone normal, someone he doesn’t need to protect and save every time. 

“You shouldn’t,” Lio breathes out, barely a whisper. “Sometimes, I think it’d be better if you haven’t saved me.”

"Lio. I don't regret loving you. Not now, not ever." Galo’s eyes speak of fear like open wounds speak of pain. Lio can’t understand why. 

Galo has seen his worst, seen the lowest, filthiest part of him, and yet he pushes, back and again, and he somehow loves him, still. Even after everything. Especially after everything.

Maybe he doesn’t need to. For now, at least. He’s tired, he can feel the adrenaline finally starting to leave his bloodstream, and so, so warm.

He doesn’t hear Meis and Gueira enter the room before sleep takes him, but he does feel the warmth of Galo’s body overlapping his. And he smiles into the pillows of their bed.

* * *

Galo insists on taking the taxi. Lio is pretty sure he could manage holding onto his back on the motorbike, but he's too tired to argue, and so he sits in the back seat with Galo while Galo tries to produce something of a polite conversation with the driver.

Maybe he doesn't try. Maybe that's really how he is, genuinely interested in what the driver's daughter said about this part of town and the weather and what not. Maybe it's a real laugh Galo lets out when the man cracks a joke that makes Lio cringe.

Galo is so - Lio doesn't know how to put it exactly. Every word seems too soft or vague to convey the person Galo is. Good, maybe. Galo is a good person. 

Galo is too bright and good for someone like Lio next to him.

They arrive at the hospital. It looks just as Lio remembers it, down to the overwhelming stench of antiseptics and illness that he barely noticed at first, and then couldn't notice anything but. 

The receptionist seems to recognize him and Galo. Not that it's anything special as of late, with all this press they are given, but this one - Lio remembers her, too.

He tries not to look at her as Galo tries to explain what happened.

"...first aid, but I think someone should look at it, too. Don't want it to get infected or something."

"Sure," she says. "Can you please..."

The floor stinks too, albeit in a slightly different way, Lio decides. And who chose the white tiles? They are an absolute atrocity, both aesthetic-wise and with how much filth there is on them. They are almost completely gray. Lio would not even know they're supposed to be white if he didn't know that all the rooms in this place are white all over like some kind of purgatory nightmare.

"Lio?" 

He blinks. Galo is looking at him with worry on his face and behind him, the receptionist is looking, too. Her expression Lio can't quite decipher.

"Sorry," Lio says. "Must have drifted off."

"As I was saying." The woman doesn't roll her eyes, but Lio hears it in her tone anyway. "It doesn't seem urgent, so we cannot rush you into the ER. But, apparently, Mr. Fotia is still listed as one of our current patients, so I think I can call one of the doctors to take a look at him." She stares at Lio with something between amusement and disappointment. Lio stares at his shoes and pretends that he doesn't know how he threatened the whole staff to let him go and escaped again and again until they decided that the damage isn't worth it and let him go home. 

"Oh," Galo says, and he all but beams enough for Lio to go blind. "Good."

"Indeed." She goes back to shuffling her papers. "Mr. Fotia, I hope you know where doctor Dawson's room is? I think she's free at the moment."

"Unfortunately," Lio says. "I'll go visit her." He turns around and marches to the stairs.

“Should I-” Galo is already a step behind him, and from the corner of his eye Lio can see how he eyes nervously the way Lio tries to figure out how the stairs work. Bad choice, by the way, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to let Galo know that.

“It’s just a checkup,” Lio says. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just wait here.”

Galo looks like he wants to argue, but the nurse is already trying to get his attention again. She does the same batting eyelashes thing as Tanya did and through association Lio immediately starts to hate her, just in case.

As soon as Lio’s sure he’s out of Galo’s line of sight he allows himself to groan and hold onto the rail at the side. Fuck, he _really_ should have went with the elevator; he must be out here in the world, he knows this, but his body as always decides to be a fucking nuisance and do everything it can to make him topple over and stay in a horizontal position until his flesh can sort itself out. 

Well, too bad. He has an image to uphold and a doctor to meet, so he forces himself to make another step, then another, putting as much of his weight as he can on the rail and trying his hardest to ignore the screams of his tendons. 

He had worse. He survived through worse, and so this should be a piece of cake. And it will be. It has to be.

He arrives before the doctor’s door with his muscles convinced that he’s dying and his heartbeat skyrocketing for no reason, which is _fun_ , and he doesn’t really want to start hyperventilating in the corridor, so he all but slams into the door and opens it without knocking.

The look the doctor inside gives him is something between exasperated and amused. 

“Is something on fire?” she all but growls. “Because if not, get out. I’m on a break.”

“The reception said I should come here.” He rolls up one of his sleeves to give her a look of the bandages Galo has put on him first thing in the morning.

She glimpses down, sighs, and gestures for Lio to sit down on the examination table. “Of course they did. Bastards.”

Lio tries to find a way of rolling up both the sleeves of his hoodie without completely cutting off circulation in his arms and fails miserably. He unzips the hoodie and immediately feels awful as the doctor glances down and lingers on his chest for just a second too long.

Thankfully, she doesn’t say a word. Instead she comes closer, snaps on some rubber gloves and unwraps the bandages in quick, practised movements.

“Now, care to explain what happened?”

Lio looks somewhere around his feet. “An accident.”

“Let me guess: you fell down the stairs?”

“Yes,” Lio says before he realises how stupid of a response it is. 

The doctor raises her eyebrows so high they almost disappear in her fringe. “Fotia, I saw your file. And I know how self-inflicted wounds look like.”

He shrugs. “Just get on with it, would you. I didn’t exactly come here to be lectured.”

“And I’m not about to lecture you.” She opens one of the drawers and pulls a bottle of something out, then soaks a gauze with it. “But just a word of advice: it will happen again until you do something about it.”

Lio lets out a hiss as she presses it just a bit too much harshly against the cuts. “It won’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “Had worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re coping wonderfully with the attempted genocide of your people.” There’s blood when she takes her hand away. He was sure it healed enough through the night, but apparently not. “And the survivor’s guilt? All under control, I see. _Definitely_ not an issue.”

“Like you would know something about it.”

“Well, I feel fairly qualified, since I am also a psychologist. And dealt with the Burnish a fair share, especially those ones that just barely made it out the Parnassus.”

She doesn’t look like she’s lying, and Lio knows that some people of Promepolis volunteered to help the Burnish with the fallout of the world almost ending. She could be one of them.

Then again, she might just as well be lying to his face just to get some information out of him and get him diagnosed as insane so that he has yet another thing to overcome before he sees Kray rot in prison.

“What are you trying to say, exactly?” he grits through his teeth as her hands return and with them, the stinging pain.

“That you need therapy, rest and some goddamn mastectomy before dysphoria eats you alive.” She gets a roll of bandages out and starts wrapping them on his forearms. Almost exactly the same as what Galo did.

“That’s it?” he asks when she finishes on one arm. “Why did I ever come here?”

“You don’t need stitches, so the best would be just to clean it up from time to time and let it heal. But I can stab you with a syringe if you want.” She shrugs and moves to attacking his other side. “And to answer your question, someone probably cares about you a whole lot.”

Galo. Galo with his worried expression, his smile, his burned scrambled eggs and bacon he tried so hard to make so that Lio doesn’t need to move at all until they got here.

“Which is yet another reason for you to consider what I said,” she says, wrapping up the bandages. “You may not care about yourself right now, but what about him? You do care about him, do you?”

“That’s-” He grabs at his hoodie and zips it up as fast as he can. “That’s frankly none of your business.”

“But it can be. And you can feel better after telling someone disconnected from it all.” He expects to see pity at her face, but there is none. Only those raised brows and weird playfulness without any real humor behind it - more like cynicism, really.

Lio prefers cynicism to pity. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Good luck,” she says, not looking at him.

Lio takes the elevator.

* * *

Galo laughs and once again wonders just how much free time the receptionist has to be cracking jokes like that. And what about Lio? Is he okay? Oh gods, what if he was wrong, what if Lio was moved to the intensive care and will have to get his arms amputated, too, all because Galo was too slow to react and-

Lio steps out of the elevator and a wave of relief makes Galo’s knees weak. “Lio!”

Lio quirks his brow. “I’m alive, yes.”

Galo takes a step forward - and stops himself before he can pull Lio into a hug. Instead he hovers on his feet and does something with his hands so that it doesn’t look like he was trying to do what he just was, and then laughs awkwardly.

The receptionist coughs. “Well. All… okay, I presume?”

“Yes, thank you.” Lio doesn’t roll his eyes, but Galo knows it’s only because he’s too polite for that. Always so proper, even while having him at knifepoint. Regal. And so-

“We’re going, or are you going to stare the whole day?”

Galo quickly looks down and tries to convince himself he was, and is, looking at the boots the whole time. “Sure, just let me grab my phone and call for a taxi.”

“No need,” Lio says, and turns around with a whirl of his hair and the almost-undercut looks so good on him, so soft yet so manly- and he’s staring again.

He remembers how to walk and catches up to Lio. “Are you sure? You should rest, and-”

Lio huffs. “I hurt my arms, not legs. And it’s not like they’re gonna grow back if I stop trying to move.”

Ouch. “You looked shaky on the stairs. I got worried.”

Lio all but slams the door open and for a second Galo is sure the glass is going to shatter against the wall. “You shouldn’t. I’m okay.” 

He’s not looking at him. Lio is not looking him in the eye, like he’s mad or something.

“Are you mad at me?” 

“No,” Lio snaps back, all too quick and sharp. 

“You are!”

“I said I’m not!” His voice rises and Galo almost trips on the pavement. Thank gods there’s only one person within earshot they don’t know. Galo sends the man an apologetic smile and stares at him until he gets out of his line of sight.

Lio’s steps stutter a bit. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to yell.”

Galo smiles at him. “No problem.”

“You’re too nice to me.” 

“I’m a perfectly good amount of nice, thank you very much.”

Lio huffs, humorless. “I’m just… I have a lot to think about. Thought the walk might clear my head and let me talk with you properly.” Another snort. “And you see how it’s turning out.”

“Hey, no biggie. I get you.” Definitely with that ‘a lot to think about’ part. Of course, it still is probably nothing next to what must be coiling inside Lio himself, but Galo still can’t help but wonder and worry and think too much about everything about Lio. And everything around him - every stare, every whisper, every turned head and lingering eyes making Galo’s skin crawl and fingers itch to get into action and protect Lio before something happens. 

Lio slows down to something that can be considered normal walking speed for a person his size. For Galo, it’s more of a lazy stroll, and he couldn’t be happier. Lio pushes and pushes himself, again and again past his limits, and Galo sees how he cracks sometimes only to immediately close back. As if he doesn’t trust Galo. 

It hurts, and yet Galo can’t bring himself to push back. Even now when Lio falls silent only trivial things to say appear on his mind. He keeps quiet and waits.

Waiting, waiting again. 

Lio walks as if every step wasn’t a big deal for him. As if he didn’t sometimes wake up in the middle of the night clutching the stumps and gritting his teeth in pain and trying not to wake up Galo. And, hell, maybe he succeeds sometimes - not like Galo would know. But it only makes him want to be ever more attentive at the times he does wake up and gives Lio painkillers and hot chocolate and tries to distract him with whatever is at hand.

He’s so strong. And yet, Galo feels that he needs to protect him more now than ever. 

People glance at them as they pass. 

“Meis said I should go live with them for a while.”

A sharp twinge of pain. He pushes it down. “And you are going to?”

“No,” Lio says, and immediately a knot disappears inside Galo’s stomach. “I thought about it, but that wouldn’t help. And I want to be here. With you.”

“In the middle of the street? Really?”

Lio looks at him with a mix of annoyance and amusement. Galo smiles back.

Lio holds his stare for a while - and then suddenly comes to a halt, abrupt enough for Galo to step forward and reach his hands just in case Lio was falling.

He isn’t. But when Galo looks at where they are, he suddenly feels like falling himself.

“How the hell did we get in here?” 

Galo recognizes the place in a heartbeat. He doesn’t usually remember every single place they’ve been called to - too many, too often - but this one he has gone over again and again in his head, even before everything, and now it’s impossible to forget.

The first place. The first suspicious fire they were called to. Hell, he can still see the charred walls of the lowest floor of the apartment building, proof that he isn’t making this up, that this really is the place.

Next to him Lio takes a step, then another one, and he stops.

There are people in the higher apartments, lights on, as if nothing has ever happened. Do they know? Are they even ex-Burnish? Would they care if they knew?

“Ironic, better than expected.” Lio’s voice cuts him out of this train of thought. “Look, there even is a flyer here.”

 _For sale,_ Galo sees plastered on the window that looks just barely charred. 

“We’re not buying it,” Galo says. 

Lio snorts. “I suppose so. I wonder who will, though.”

“Someone will. Eventually.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Eventually.”

It’s not the end, not yet - but the beginning of one, maybe. There’s still work to do, so much of it.

But it will be okay. Not now. Not tomorrow. But maybe, eventually, all of this will fade away little by little, get replaced with other memories, the ones they make themselves and the ones they choose.

It will be okay. 

“Let’s go home,” Galo says. 

And they do.


End file.
